A Patch of Clover
by altenprano
Summary: When Mairead Hayes comes to work at Downton Abbey in 1916, the last thing she expects is to be working under the same roof as her cousin, who is none other than Tom Branson. Neither of them are exactly who they were when Tom left to work for the Crawley family, but that doesn't change the strong ties of family loyalty between the cousins. OC, starts before S2.
1. Arrival

**A/N: So this is one of my attempts at an OC in the _Downton Abbey _verse, so I hope you enjoy this piece. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Downton Abbey,_ and any Irish Gaelic that appears in this fic is the product of Google Translate. And I'll address other minutia as we get to chapters where it's important. **

***"my little love," a term of endearment **

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_February, 1916_

It was cold enough outside that Tom could see his breath as he strode away from the train platform, determined to get away before the platform became crowded with departures and arrivals once more. He'd never been fond of the clamor of train stations, nor was he overly fond of the sudden drop in temperature, and he hated to leave the car unattended for too long.

He knew he didn't need to rush his journey back to Downton, but he would rather spend the remainder of his day in the garage than out in this cold, and thus his strides became quick and deliberate, almost soldier-like. His attention was fixed above the crowd, towards where he had parked the car, and the people who milled past him adjusted their course to avoid colliding with him.

Well, all but one.

"Pardon me, sir," the young woman said, her hand flying to catch the brim of her straw traveling hat before his shoulder could send it flying. "I wasn't watching my step."

"No worries, miss," he said, catching her gently by her elbow to help steady her. "Neither was I."

She let out a small laugh, and Tom could hear something like uncertainty in the sound, as if the young woman were laughing to cover up some insecurity.

"Is everything alright?" he asked, furrowing his brows in confusion at her laughter.

"You wouldn't happen to know the way to Downton Abbey, would you?" she asked, speaking with a lilt that Tom recognized, though he could tell she was speaking around it, trying to minimize it as best she could.

He nodded. "It so happens that I'm headed that way m'self," he told her. Realizing that he hadn't introduced himself properly, he added: "I'm Tom, by the way. Tom Branson."

The young woman's eyes lit up with recognition, but, as if she'd caught herself in the act, she glanced away until her expression settled into one of calm neutrality. "Tom?" she said, the joy in her voice unmistakable.

That was when something inside Tom clicked into place, and he realized that he knew her.

"Mairead!" he exclaimed, perhaps a bit louder than he intended to, but the sight of his cousin was enough reason for his sudden excitement. "Dear Lord, Mairead, it's been ages! You've grown since we last saw each other- quite a bit. You're...nineteen years old now?"

"Almost sixteen," she corrected, color rising in her cheeks. "But close enough, yeah?"

He shrugged and led her to the car, shocked by his unexpected reunion with his young cousin to the point that he completely forgot to offer her help with loading her valise into the boot of the car. "I suppose," he said, helping her in beside him up front. "How's your family? Sam? Will? Lisabeth?"

"Sam's married now- about a year and a half, to Isibéal O'Donovan. You remember her, right?"

Tom grinned. "How could I forget her? Sam had his heart set on her the day he saw her coming from Mass. I'm glad he finally married her."

"Will's head groom for a family in Manchester, the same one Mam's been working for since you were born, or even before. Lisabeth's eight now, and living with Aunt Bridget, like the rest of us did. Da's helping Aunt Bridget on her husband's farm," she continued. "How've you been keeping?"

"Alright, I suppose," he said, deciding against bringing up Lady Sybil, at least for now. "So what brings you to Downton? Last I heard, you were working in Manchester with your mam."

Mairead's lips settled into a tight line- she was thinking, Tom realized, recognizing the expression as one he'd often seen on her brother Sam's face- and it was a while before she spoke: "It just wasn't working for me, I suppose," she said. "Mam suggested that I apply for the empty post they had here, see how that worked out."

There was something more to it, Tom could tell by the startled spark he saw in his cousin's eyes, as well as the rehearsed feel of her words. Still, he didn't press the issue. "You'll do brilliantly, I'm sure _a stóirín*_," he assured her. "Everyone's kind, well, as kind as you'd expect, given the circumstances."

He half-expected her to cock her head to the side and ask "What circumstances?" like she might have done when she was younger, listening to Tom and Sam discuss politics over luncheon after Mass, as they often did, before Tom took the job of Lord Grantham's chauffeur, but she didn't. She only gave him a brisk nod- She's old enough to understand what you mean, Tom, he chided himself. And it was good that she understood, that what he'd explained to her when she was ten or twelve years old made sense to her now, perhaps because she'd experienced the world as a young Irishwoman, and, if her speech was as free as it'd been when she was younger, she'd probably struck out and been labeled just as radical as Mr. Carson and some of the other staff members at Downton thought him to be.

He'd have to keep an eye on her, to make sure she didn't land herself in trouble. If she'd grown up to be as politically-interested as Sam joked she would be, Tom could only pray that she knew well enough to keep her mouth shut, and he would make sure she didn't fall in with the likes of Thomas and O'Brien. Surely there was nothing worse that could happen than that, was there?

"May I present to you Downton Abbey, home of the Lord and Lady Grantham," he said, somewhat dramatically, as they pulled up the drive. "Do you need help with your valise?"

She shook her head, dislodging a dark auburn curl from its hairpin. "No thank you, Tom," she said, stifling a laugh at her cousin's dramatics. "I can get it myself, don't worry."

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**A/N: So I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of _A Patch of Clover, _and reviews are certainly most welcome. I really look forward to exploring the relationship between Tom and Mairead, especially in relation to everything that goes on from S2 and all the way up to S5 and beyond. Other characters will feature later (to name a few: Thomas Barrow and Mrs. Hughes), so we've got that to look forward to, yeah? **

**Thank you so much for reading, and please feel free to leave a review, it means the world, especially with an OC. **

**Thank you~ **


	2. Introductions

**A/N: So here's chapter two~ **

**We haven't hit the actual plot of the show yet, but we will, very soon. I promise. **

**Disclaimer: Don't own _Downton Abbey. _**

**Enjoy!**

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Mairead knew what to expect when she came to Downton, at least as far as the change in prestige (which, oddly enough, did not deter her as her mam thought it would) and scenery went. What she hadn't expected was to see Tom shortly upon her arrival at the train station, and she couldn't help but wonder why her mam didn't mention that Mairead's cousin was employed by the same family that had just hired her.

_Then again,_ Mairead had thought as she'd been unpacking her things (it wasn't much, just what she'd thought was practical to wear, plus three books, and the small jewelry box she used to keep her letters in), _that's one of the reasons you left._

She recalled what she'd told Mrs. Hughes when she'd come to be interviewed for the post, about how she wished to avoid any bias that would undoubtedly come from being the daughter of the housekeeper, which was more than reasonable, wasn't it? She wanted to be successful on her own terms, not just because her mother could promote her if she wanted. Other girls would jump at such a chance, this she knew, and sometimes she wondered what kept her from taking advantage of that, why she held back whenever a chance to show off in front of her mother arose. Such chances were rare, seeing as her mother was more focused on keeping the staff in order than spoiling her children who worked in her household.

"Stop that," she chided herself as she changed into her new uniform and redid her dark auburn hair into an even more simple knot than she'd worn for the train ride from Manchester, having to rush it when she heard a light knock on the door. The day may be nearly over, but there's still work to be done, she reminded herself as she went to answer the door.

"Hullo Mairead," the woman outside her door said, offering Mairead a warm smile. She wore the same uniform as Mairead, with her fair hair swept back into a neat knot at the nape of her neck. "Mrs. Hughes sent me to make sure you're settled in properly."

"Yes I am, thank you," Mairead said, returning the woman's smile. She had a faint memory of meeting the woman when she'd come for her interview earlier in the year, but that memory didn't include her name.

"Splendid. I'm Anna, and if you'd like, I can introduce you to some of the others," she offered, gesturing for Mairead to follow her down the hall where the female staff slept until they came to a room similar to Mairead's own, where three other women were gathered.

The oldest looked to be somewhere in her twenties- maybe a year or two younger than Mairead's brother William- but the other two were closer to eighteen or nineteen years old. All three of them wore a housemaid's uniform, but Mairead knew enough to know that they were only a small portion of the housemaid population here. A great house such as Downton surely had at least twenty housemaids, and there were maybe half that many footmen. She knew she could be wrong, with men leaving to fight on the Western Front, and women taking more jobs in the city. Back in Manchester, there'd been two or three of her fellow parlor maids who'd left to be secretaries or something like that, and the Lord knew that a good bit of the footmen she'd worked alongside had left to fight.

"Ethel, Lucy, Alice, this is Mairead," Anna said, then, gesturing to each of the women as she said their names, she added: "Mairead, this is Ethel, Lucy, and Alice."

"Pleasure to meet you," Mairead said, giving each of them a polite nod. "You can call me Meg, if it's easier."

Anna smiled and clapped her hands together softly- a gesture of finality that Mairead's mother had often performed. "I'll leave you four to get acquainted, I suppose," she said. "Don't take too long, though." And with that she left.

"She acts like a proper lady!" Lucy scoffed as soon as Anna was gone, addressing no one in particular.

Mairead said nothing, she just hung back, observing as Alice elbowed Lucy in the ribs gently, though certainly not playfully.

"She's being polite," the dark-haired housemaid retorted, her expression softening as she met Mairead's eyes. "Don't mind Lucy. She's a bit sore that you get to be third housemaid, when she's been working here for a year."

"Am not," Lucy muttered, rubbing her side and shooting Alice a venomous look.

Ethel watched the two younger girls, her thin lips pressed together thoughtfully as her attention shifted to Mairead. "Where are you from?" she asked.

It was a reasonable enough question, and Mairead didn't see any reason not to answer. "Just outside of Dublin," she told her new colleagues, bracing herself for whatever might follow.

"Isn't that where the chauffeur's from?" Ethel asked Alice and Lucy.

"He's from Bray, which isn't far from where I grew up," Mairead corrected, heat rising in her cheeks as she spoke.

A sly grin spread across Lucy's lips. "How do y'know that? I don't imagine he'd tell you- he's quiet, keeps to himself, y'know."

She felt her cheeks warm with embarrassment (oh, what a fool she must've looked like to them!), and she scolded herself for being so foolish as to blurt out something like that. "He's a dear friend of my family," she lied, using the quickest excuse she could think of for her familiarity with "the chauffeur," one that would explain their relationship without being too problematic.

"Just a friend?" Ethel arched a red brow playfully, but the humor behind the expression- the Lord knew that Mairead had done much the same in jest herself- did not have the effect it was meant to have.

If anything, it only served to make Mairead bristle, but it wouldn't be any use to her if she made a poor impression on her first day, now would it? While it was appealing, the notion of making friends with Ethel, Alice, and Lucy was really a silly one, especially if all they seemed to be interested in were things that weren't any of their business. It was cruel to judge them so quickly, so Mairead decided she would wait and see what their true dispositions were (her mother had always told her that you had to wait until you'd seen them with other people, seen them work, and seen them in a spot of trouble before you could truly identify their character, and Mairead was ready to take this advice), then she would make her decision.

Until then, she'd keep to herself, like she usually did, but she'd keep her eyes and ears open, for sure, at least until she had a good sense of things here. She'd stick with her lie about Tom, and she'd have to tell him what she'd told the staff, about their families being good friends, so he would know what to say if anyone happened to ask him.

"I should prob'ly report to Mrs. Hughes," she said, giving the other housemaids a tight-lipped smile. "Let her know I'm settled in and all."

"Do you need me t'show you where her sitting room is?" Alice offered.

Mairead shook her head, maintaining her smile. "I remember where it is, but thanks," she said, leaving before anyone could say something to her. As she went, she could hear them whispering excitedly - _Gossiping_, she thought- but she couldn't make out what they were saying.

_Thank the Lord for books and work_, she thought, smiling in earnest to herself. Without them, she was convinced she might go mad.

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**A/N: So there's chapter two! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I look forward to ****actually getting to the plot of the show (as I said, soon, very soon). As always, reviews are welcome. **

**Thank you for your continued support!**


	3. The First Night

**A/N: So here's chapter three. We're getting closer and closer to the actual plot of the show (Chapter Five is set at the beginning of S2)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Downton Abbey, _nor do I pretend to be an expert on European/Irish History. I do the best I can, I promise, so know that I am trying :) **

**Enjoy~**

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In the evenings, Tom was usually able to find some time for himself, assuming the Crawley family didn't have anywhere to be that evening, which, thankfully, tonight, they didn't. He usually spent this time reading ( at the moment, he was taking a break from political literature and was reading a collection of short stories by Caradoc Evans), or tinkering with the car if he was feeling too restless to sit and read. Tonight, however, he didn't feel inclined to do either, seeing as his thoughts kept wandering back to earlier that evening- late afternoon was more like it, really- when his cousin had arrived.

Instead of reading or tinkering- it didn't seem as if he would become any less restless as the evening wore on- the chauffeur sat down to write a letter to Mairead's mother, assuring the woman that her daughter had arrived at the Abbey safely, and that he would keep an eye on her as best he could. It was one of a few letters he'd written to anyone outside of his brother and Mairead's brother, Sam, but he had a feeling that his aunt might feel more at ease with her daughter's new post if she knew the girl wasn't all on her own at Downton.

As he finished the letter, he realized that he didn't know his aunt's current address, aside from the fact that it was in Manchester. He knew Mairead would know, and if there was ever a better time to ask her for it, it was probably now. A trip to the servants' hall wouldn't do any harm, not at this hour, when the only people who were likely to be awake would be those who he didn't pay much mind to in the first place.

He found Mairead sitting in the servants' hall, her full attention on a hat he recognized as one of Lady Sybil's favorites. She was alone except for Anna, who sat doing her own mending in her usual seat, a scene Tom found surprising, as the footmen and hall boys would usually have a card game going at this hour.

"Good evening," he said, unable to hide a grin when his cousin jumped a little, having been so engrossed in her work that she hadn't heard his footsteps disrupt the silence that seemed to have settled over the two women.

She narrowed her eyes at him as she set the hat down and pressed her index finger to the underside of the table for a moment. "The same to you," she replied, ceasing to glare at him. "What are y'doing up here? Ethel and Lucy said you mostly stay down in the garage."

"Because I do." It wasn't a lie, that he rarely came up to the servants' hall aside from mealtimes, but it made him wonder what else the staff said about him, even though he was well beyond the age where such things should bother him. "And I was wondering if you could give me your mam's address."

"What for?" she asked, her voice carrying a note of impatience.

"So I could write to her, that's why," he answered.

"About what?"

Tom wasn't sure if he should be amused or cross with his cousin for her behavior. She'd done this plenty of times when she was younger, asking him questions after he'd told her something or requested something of her. He knew Sam found it vexing, listening to the then-twelve-year-old girl ask every question under the sun about everything her older brother talked about, and Tom had assumed that perhaps his cousin had grown out of the habit. Still, it was nice (at least Tom thought it was) to see a hint of the young girl that he left in Ireland three years ago, even when the girl was now more of a young woman (he still doubted she was just turning sixteen- she looked much older than that).

"Just to assure her that you're not completely on your own out here," he answered, watching Anna out of the corner of his eye, in case the woman rose to object to his statement, or make a comment about how Mairead wasn't, as he'd put it, "completely on her own."

It was clear that Mairead was watching the head housemaid too, though if it were for the same thing, Tom didn't know. She watched the older woman for a few moments straight on, not out of the corner of her eye, as if she wanted her superior to know that she was being watched, before turning her attention back to Tom.

"I told the others that you're a close family friend," she confided in Gaeilge, dropping her voice to a whisper, which was hardly necessary, as Tom doubted that Anna would understand, nor would she judge them for it.

Anna was a good woman, that was for sure, always offering him nothing but kind words when he ventured up to the house. It wasn't that everyone else was always unkind, but when she spoke, he was never able to find any traces of disapproval or smugness in her voice the way he could when Mr. Molesley or Thomas (before he went to the front) addressed him, and he didn't think of her as one to gossip. Like Tom, she liked to keep to herself, though she was certainly more inclined to talk amiably over meals and mending (which was in part what surprised him about the scene he'd found in the servants' hall, with both women sitting in silence) than he was.

"Why?"

Why would she deny her relation to him in that way? Had she already heard all there was to hear of the downstairs gossip about him, and decided that she wanted no association with him because of it? Surely not, as she'd identified him as being "a close family friend," and not something less intimate, like a neighbor or a friend-of-a-friend, but the chauffeur couldn't help but wonder what had driven her to say that.

Color rose in her cheeks, and she shrugged. "They were being nosey," she told him.

"That's hardly a good reason to lie, Mairead." He sat across from her at the table, so hopefully he appeared less like he was scolding her for what she'd done. If anything, he wanted to know why she'd done it, and he knew he wouldn't get anywhere near the answer if he came at it like he knew Mr. Carson would if he were in the chauffeur's position.

"You're right, it isn't, is it?" she asked, a small, helpless grin flitting across her face.

He shook his head. "No, it isn't," he confirmed. "But I can see how it might've been easy."

There was no way to tell that the two were related as closely as they were from simply looking, and they both carried different surnames, which would make Mairead's lie all the more believable. Had it been Sam telling the lie instead of Mairead, however, he would be caught in the act, he and Tom were so similar that, were it not for Sam's hair (which was the same auburn color as Mairead's, but with a bit more dark red to it, especially in the summer), the two young men could be brothers.

"You're not upset, are you?" his cousin asked, returning to English and keeping her voice at a whisper.

He gave her a brief, stern nod. "No, I'm not," he said, "but that's no excuse to do it, is it?"

She swallowed and shook her head, "No, it's not," she said. "I'm sorry Tom."

"No harm done." He slid her the envelope, and when she looked at it quizzically, traces of apology and guilt still visible in her features, he said, "Can I have your mam's address now?"

Her expression shifted back to the polite eagerness he'd seen on her face earlier that day as she took the envelope and, after retrieving a pencil from her apron pocket, she wrote the address of what he could only assume was her former post on the back of the envelope. "There y'go," she said, stowing the pencil in her apron pocket and passing him the envelope back.

"Thank you," Tom said, rising from his seat and exiting the servants' hall after a polite "good night" to Anna.

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**A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Reviews are welcome, as always, and I look forward to sharing the rest of Tom and Mairead's story with y'all, especially when Sybil comes into the picture a bit more. **

**Thank you~**


	4. April 24, 1916

**A/N: So here's chapter five. Thank you so much for all the support, I'm very grateful. **

**This chapter kind of came to be after I rewatched Episode 6 ( I think) of Season Two, when Tom tells Sybil that he has a cousin who died in the Easter Rising, so I thought I would tie that to Mairead. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Downton Abbey _**

**Disclaimer Part Two: My knowledge of the Easter Rising of 1916 is limited to what I could understand from the Wikipedia article, the quarter of a page dedicated to it in my history textbook, and the five minutes we talked about it in class. You have been forewarned. **

**Enjoy~**

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_April, 1916_

Mairead came down to the garage around luncheon, and Tom heard her before he saw her, the sound of her feet hitting the stone path at a pace that was somewhere between a purposeful walk and a run, the skirt of her uniform rustling when she abruptly slowed herself at the garage entrance.

"Tom," she said, her feet still.

He looked up from the letter he'd received in the post that morning, which he hadn't had a chance to read yet, seeing as his morning had consisted of driving Lady Mary and Her Ladyship to the Dower House, and then seeing that the car was in good condition. There was something in Mairead's voice that made him suspect that something had happened, something important. Had Will or Sam been called up by the war office to serve? That had to be the case, seeing how little ruffled his cousin- she was so much like her mother in that regard.

He went to greet her, disregarding the fact that he wasn't in uniform (she wasn't one of the family, nor was she Mr. Carson or Mrs. Hughes, so he suspected it would have been alright, even if they weren't family). "Yes?"

She met his gaze before diving straight at him and wrapping her arms around his torso. "They killed him, Tom, they jus' shot him there," she said, her voice coming out in a fearful whisper.

He stumbled backwards, caught off-guard by the embrace he now found himself in. "Who?" he asked, smoothing her hair and doing his best to comfort her, despite the confusion that her declaration had brought upon him.

"Sam," she said, the grief in her voice more apparent now, and he could hear notes of anger and fear when she spoke. She was holding back tears- he could hear it when she spoke too- and her body trembled against his, as if she were a child woken from a horrible nightmare.

_But this isn't a nightmare,_ Tom thought, pressing his lips to the top of her head, doing everything he knew how to calm her. She wouldn't have come all the way down to the garage unless she truly needed him, especially not with it threatening to rain like it was. There would be time for him to grieve later; Sam had been his cousin, as well as his closest friend, but Tom had lost a cousin and friend, and Mairead had lost one of her brothers.

"Aunt Bridget sent...she sent a telegram, saying he'd been shot." She tilted her head upwards, and Tom could see tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. Her jaw was clenched tight, as if that would keep her from crying, and it did nothing to keep her lips from trembling.

He could feel tears welling in his own eyes, and he blinked furiously in an attempt to dispel them. "Who shot him?" he asked her gently, his stomach tightening when he realized that he knew who'd done it.

"An English officer," she answered, finally losing the battle against the tears that now ran down her cheeks. "He wasn't doing anything but heading to meet Isibéal at her mam's, like he's done the morning after every holiday since she had Daniel."

Tom remembered hearing about Daniel- he heard about Sam's son in almost every letter- and he recalled receiving a letter talking about how Isibéal was pregnant again. That had been two months ago, and Sam had written that she was just beginning to show, and how thrilled he was at the thought of being a father again. He'd wanted a girl this time- _"I think I'd name her Meave, though I know Isibéal will want to name her something less, as she'd say, "poetic," I suppose,"_ he'd written in his most recent letter, the one that Tom had been reading before Mairead had come to him- but now he'd never know. And his poor wife! Tom could barely imagine how she must have received the news of her young husband's death. The thought of Isibéal, the girl Sam had chased after for the better part of his youth, who was easily one of the most lovely girls in all of Dublin (Tom remembered having asked Sam as a joke how many poems were written about her), as a widow saddened him, even more so when he was reminded of her year-old son and the one she was expecting.

"I'm sure he wasn't," he assured her. He knew about the tensions between his country and England, and he'd read what Sam had written about those tensions growing at an alarming rate since England declared war on Germany. It was only a matter of time until something like this happened, he'd mused one evening, and now it was, and he wasn't sure if he'd wanted it or not. He'd learned from history books, that the kind of change men like him and Sam wanted for their countries was hard to achieve without bloodshed, but now part of him wished there was a way.

"They murdered him, Tom," she cried hoarsely, trying to keep control of her voice, trying to hide her distress under anger. "They shot him like...like...a dog!"

"Hush _a stóirín_." He pulled her close to him, letting her cry into his shirt. He cradled her close, as if she were a child, and to him she still was, even if she was only six inches shorter than him now, and in every way a young woman. He understood her anger, but he remained silent, only speaking to soothe her.

He didn't ask if there would be a funeral, for he knew if a man had just been shot without reason, there was sure to be nothing but chaos rocking Dublin right now, and the Lord knew when that would calm down. And even if everything was calm (or as calm as it could be), he doubted he would allow Mairead to go. He may not have been her parent, but, as her older cousin, he refused to think of letting her go by herself (he knew her mother would remain in Manchester, on account of her post as housekeeper, and she was likely to keep Will with her), even if she was more than capable of managing on her own.

"I'll tell Mrs. Hughes that you just needed some air," he told her, sensing that she was likely to want this to stay between the two of them. He knew it was what he'd want, and he had a feeling Mrs. Hughes would understand what had transpired, even if he didn't tell her, but she at least was respectful of what others chose to keep to themselves.

"T-thank you, Tom," his cousin said, her voice more even than when she'd last spoken, though he could hear the rawness in her voice. "Apologize for me, yeah?"

Tom kissed her forehead. "Don't worry, I will," he promised. "Are you sure you don't want me to stay? I'm sure Mrs. Hughes won't miss you for a while longer."

She gave her head a tight shake. "Go," she said, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. "I...I'll be fine, and Mrs. Hughes is pro'ly better of knowing that I might be a while...But let her know I'll be back soon. I just...I just need time to collect m'self, that's all."

"If you insist," he said, releasing her. "I won't be long, promise."

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**A/N: Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. **

**Tom always struck me as the "big brother of a cousin" that pops up often, and so I played with that a little (and I will continue to play with it a little later on, I think). As for Mairead...well, tell me what you think? Reviews make my day, that's for sure. **

**Thank you for reading~**


	5. Lady Sybil

**A/N: So here's chapter five, alternatively titled "The Chapter in Which We Actually Meet the Series Plotline." **

**I do employ a little artistic lisence, in that I'm using events from S2EP1, which takes place (according to the Downton Wiki) in November of 1916, but I decided December (for whatever reason). You'll see later that some timeline stuff is a little skewed, but I'm sure that's not going to be too much of an issue. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Downton Abbey_**

**Disclaimer Pt. 2: (I neglected to mention this in Chapter Two) Lucy the housemaid is credited to one of my tumblr anons, so she's not mine. I'm borrowing her for now. **

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_December 1916_

"Her Ladyship rang for tea in the study," Mairead said, the request coming from her lips just as she took the elegantly-carved wooden tray that she knew was the Countess's favorite from its place in the cupboard and gently set it on the long table in the kitchen.

In the past eleven months, she'd picked up on the fine details that made up the family she served, as well as those who served them. It was one of the advantages of being a housemaid- she was completely invisible upstairs, and mostly invisible downstairs (though nowhere near as invisible as a scullery maid, nor was she half-there like the hall boys)- and she reveled in each new discovery about them, as a child revels in learning her sums or how to read. Having worked as a parlor maid, she knew that people would say what they pleased around her, because she was just part of the scenery, just like the drapes and potted plants and cushions, and it wasn't as if she was in a position to blackmail her employers.

Of course, she didn't want to cause trouble to take advantage of her new employers, but it made her chest swell with pride when she remembered little details about their preferences when it came to things such as tea , linens, how much light they liked in each room, or even who liked what kinds of flower arrangements. It was, after all, a maid's job to remember the things that pleased those they served, was it not? And Mrs. Hughes could hardly chastise her for eavesdropping when Mairead reported that Her Ladyship had expressed that she preferred an arrangement of orchids to the arrangement of peace lilies that then occupied the drawing room (not to mention, orchids were much easier to maintain, and they didn't make quite as much of a mess as the lilies had).

"Is it time for tea already?" answered the kitchen maid.

Her attention still fixed on readying the tray for Her Ladyship, Mairead nodded. "Indeed," she said. After a few seconds (she had the unfortunate habit of being impatient when these things, and, seeing as she didn't dare do the kitchen maids' work, lest Mrs. Patmore catch her at it, she couldn't do anything but wait), she added: "Hurry up now. You know Her Ladyship doesn't like to be kept waiting, and she seemed especially hurried- something about Mr. Matthew being back."

"Matthew's back?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?" She glanced up, wondering if she'd been talking to the new scullery maid- Daisy would've had tea boiling by now, and she wouldn't be questioning Mairead like this- the entire time. It had to be someone new to staff, since Mairead hardly recognized the voice as belonging to someone she knew from her time here, and the kitchen maids rarely asked this many questions.

If it was possible to blush and have all the color drain from your face at the same time, it surely would've happened to Mairead then.

"L-lady Sybil," she said, her hands falling to her sides as she registered the young woman's presence downstairs. "Forgive me. I didn't realize you would be down here this afternoon."

The youngest of the Crawley sisters bit her lip, trying to keep the corners of her mouth from curling into an amused grin. "It's quite alright," she said, a breathless laugh escaping her lips. "I don't believe we've met."

"Mairead, m'lady. Mairead Hayes."

_Don't expect her to remember your name,_ Mairead was quick to tell herself. _Housemaids come and go- there's probably been at least twenty others before you, not to mention the ones you work with now, who've been here since she was born. She can't possibly care that much._

"If it's easier, "Meg" works just fine."

The only people who called her "Mairead" here (if they called her anything) were Mr. Carson, Mrs. Hughes, and Tom. The rest of the staff called her by "Meg," which was much simpler, and less noticeably Irish than her given name, which she supposed made some people a lot more comfortable than usual. Mrs. O'Brien, Her Ladyship's lady's maid, addressed her (with blatant dislike) as "Miss Hayes," as if she were a schoolmistress who had caught the young maid getting into trouble and was preparing to list her misdeeds before delivering her punishment.

"It's lovely to meet you, Mairead," Sybil said, giving the maid a polite nod, the kind exchanged between members of the same (usually upper) class. "How is it that I haven't seen you before?"

_Because maids aren't supposed to be seen nor are they to be heard by the family._

"I arrived only in February, m'lady, and since then, well, I think I can safely say everyone's been all over the place, with the war and all," she said, remembering that Daisy was on her half-day, and Mrs. Patmore was shopping for tonight's dinner in York, which left the kitchen staff to their own devices. "Not to mention, Downton's size hardly allows for such meetings."

She, of course, had seen all of the great house's inhabitants, from the commanding, elderly woman she'd been told was the Dowager Countess, to Isis ("the fourth Crawley sister," as described to her by Alice when the two had been tasked with washing the Labrador after she'd found her way into the duckpond), but, with the exception of Isis, Mairead only knew them from what little time they spent in the same room, during which she never spoke unless she was accepting orders or asking if there was anything else they required. She knew Lady Mary was the eldest of the Crawley sisters, with dark hair like Her Ladyship and the handsome features of Lord Grantham, and Mairead remembered that she liked to play the piano in the drawing room when there was little else to do (though how, in a house such as this, such a thing was possible, to have "little else to do," Mairead sometimes wondered). Next came Lady Edith, who liked pale orange roses and fashion magazines, and who looked like neither of her parents. Mairead recalled Tom telling her that Lady Edith had asked him to teach her to drive, "to help with the war effort," he'd explained, and how her cousin was still awaiting His Lordship's permission to do so.

What Mairead knew of Lady Sybil was from a combination of things she'd observed, and things she'd heard from her cousin, who harbored a great admiration for Sybil (she would go so far as to say his admiration for the young woman was actually affection). It wasn't hard to see why Tom admired her- she was more soft-spoken than the rest of her family, with a heart that seemed to have a place for everyone, regardless of whether they were titled or not- and Mairead didn't see any reason to dislike her either.

"It doesn't, does it?"

"I suppose not, m'lady," Mairead said, setting a kettle to boil and pulling out the tea that was typically served to the family in the afternoon, making a note to tell Mrs. Hughes that they were running low at the moment. "I hardly know everyone in the staff."

Surely this wouldn't be hard to believe, though Mairead doubted that Lady Sybil knew anyone besides the senior staff, and the footman and maids, the downstairs was so large. She knew the members of the senior staff, the footman, William Mason, her fellow housemaids Ethel, Alice, and Lucy, the kitchen maid, Daisy, and, of course, Tom (shame on her if she didn't know her cousin).

"Surely you know Tom, don't you? Tom Branson?"

The way her lips curled into the beginnings of a blissful smile when she spoke Tom's name, it set Mairead on edge. Was Lady Sybil in love with her cousin? Surely not! The Crawley sisters were all very smart, and hopefully the youngest of their number was smart enough to know that such things were impossible. A chauffeur and the youngest daughter of an earl? The union was doomed, even Mairead saw that, and she knew Tom would see that too. He cherished his job almost as much as folk like His Lordship cherished their precious reputations, if not more (never mind that Tom would be happier as a journalist), and she would hate to see him put that at risk.

"I do m'lady," she answered, maintaining a façade of neutrality. A servant alludes to nothing, no matter how out-of-place, she was forced to remind herself. "He was my brother's best friend growing up."

The lady's dark eyes lit up, and she dug into the pocket of her skirt (Mairead found this interesting, that her skirt had pockets, and she couldn't help but wonder how difficult it would be to obtain a similar garment with her wages), retrieving a folded slip of paper, which she held out to the maid. "Could you deliver this to him for me? I'd do it myself, but if Matthew's back, I might be wanted upstairs."

"Certainly m'lady." Mairead took the paper and set it in her apron pocket, careful not to crease the edges. She'd take a peek at it later, before she did as the lady asked and delivered it, just so she could get a sense of what exactly was going on between her and Tom.

"Splendid. It was a pleasure meeting you, Mairead."

"The pleasure's mine, Lady Sybil." The kettle was beginning to whine, but Mairead let it sit. "Please forgive me for speaking to you like I did."

"As I said: no worries," the lady said. "And I'll tell Mama that tea will be along shortly, so you needn't worry about that."

"That's very kind of you, m'lady. Thank you."

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**A/N: So that's the end of chapter five. **

**We've finally met Sybil, and the Lord knows how Mairead's going to feel about Tom wanting to marry her. We'll just have to see, I suppose, won't we?**

**Anyways, thank you so much for your support, for your reviews, your readership. It all makes this so much fun, and I'm eternally grateful for y'all.  
Thank you~**


	6. Glancing Back, and Going Forward

**A/N: So here's chapter six! Yes, we get some Lady Sybil now, which'll spice things up, for sure. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Downton Abbey. _Also, this chapter contains events from S2EP3, but historically is situated around S2EP2 ish**

**Enjoy~**

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_March 1917 _

It'd been a little over a year since his cousin's arrival at Downton, and still, Tom found it hard to believe how much she'd changed.

He knew it was something he ought to expect, that Mairead was no longer the eleven-year-old girl whose auburn head barely came to the middle of his chest, that she wasn't what anyone would consider a "girl" in the first place, and that it was only natural that it happen. People were supposed to grow up- that was how the world worked, after all- and no one could be expected to be the same person in adulthood that they'd been as a child, not even his cousin.

She seemed more contained now, her curiosity and delight in learning held back by a sternness that reminded him of her mother. The deliberate, measured steps that he heard coming down the servants' hall were nothing like the _pitter-patter_ of feet coming towards him across a weathered floor, and Tom had yet to see her smile for longer than a second. From what he'd observed in the moments he spent up at the house, she didn't have any close friends among the staff, and she never said anything on the subject of whatever kind of social life she was able to have downstairs. She didn't seem to have any enemies either, though then again, she mostly kept to herself on the matter.

In the year since her arrival, Mairead had integrated herself into the workings of the household so seamlessly that Tom rarely spoke with her, except for the brief hello if they happened upon each other in the servants' hall, which wasn't frequently, at least not anymore. Their last real conversation had been more of a quarrel than a conversation, and he could still hear her scolding him and calling him reckless, as if he were the younger one in the situation.

"It's foolish, that's what this is," she'd said, her hands planted firmly on her hips as she hovered just outside the garage, unwilling to come in, despite the drizzle that dotted her uniform with dark speckles. "I'd expect you t'know that to them- th'upstairs folk- it's all a lark."

Did she think he needed to be told what risks were involved in loving Lady Sybil? Of course, she didn't understand, since she wasn't the one in love, and he wondered if she ever would, solitary creature that she was. He adored his cousin- that he wouldn't deny- but sometimes he wondered if she would ever find someone who could convince her that marriage was a way of life she might want to pursue. She wouldn't understand how he felt in Lady Sybil's presence, the way his heart raced and pleasant heat flooded his cheeks whenever she made her way down to the garage (he found it embarrassing at times, that he was blushing like a young boy).

Since then, it was almost as if she'd been avoiding him deliberately, to keep herself from being associated with him. It was as if anyone finding out that she was in any way familiar with Tom would somehow put her in a position that made her the subject of her colleagues' dislike. He wondered where she'd learned to do such a thing, and from there, what would have prompted such a behavior? He knew her mam wasn't a woman who wore affection as openly as others, and he remembered how his father would often remark on his sister's thorough nature, and then proceed to criticize the way she'd chosen to bring her children up, which consisted of leaving them with her sister-in-law as soon as possible and visiting on Christmas and Easter.

Mairead came to visit the day he received the letter from the war office, and he'd seen her as she picked her way down to the garage without a light (which would have been unnecessary in that exact moment, when the sky was just beginning to grow dark, but she wouldn't make it back before complete darkness, he was sure of that), holding her skirts just a bit higher than usual, perhaps to avoid the patches of mud that appeared here and there. As she neared the garage, he could see the worried set of her brows and lips, and he wondered how she would've caught wind of the news.

_Sybil must've told her, _he realized as he went to meet his cousin. There was no doubt that news travelled quickly through Downton, and Lady Sybil had told him herself that she considered Mairead to be trustworthy, and he trusted her judgement, even if he had no reason to question his cousin's character.

"I heard you were called up by the war office," she said, hesitating before embracing him, then pulling away. "Please tell me y'won't do anything stupid."

"I can't fight, can I?" he asked, keeping his voice low so it didn't carry up to the house. "I don't care who wins or who-"

"_Tá a fhios agam_*." She apparently had no qualms about raising her voice, even if it was slightly. "Neither do I," she added, her voice dropping to the same level as his.

"Then why are you discouraging me like this?"

He saw her jaw tighten. "I'm warnin' you t'be careful. Don't do anything stupid like Mr. Barrow did, yeah?"

He took her by the shoulders, half-expecting her to shrug him off and step back, as she had the last time the two cousins had been in confrontation with each other. "I won't, I promise," he assured her, amused at her courage in calling Thomas's actions "stupid." His plan was to refuse to serve, not get injured and come home that way.

She smiled, her eyes betraying her bitterness, and let him draw her closer. "I don't want you to go, but it'd be worse t'see you in prison...or shot for cowardice," she confessed.

"Don't worry about me, _a stóirín_**_,_" he said, feeling her body tense at the mention of being shot for cowardice. He'd heard what'd happened to Mrs. Patmore's nephew, but he knew Mairead's mind went straight to her brother, and that was her reason for her temporary fear.

It'd been barely a year since he'd been killed, but what a year it'd been for both him and Mairead. Neither of them had gone for the funeral, in part because of the approaching London season, and also because Dublin had turned into a disaster in the days that followed. She'd borne her grief in such a way that no one noticed the shift in her demeanor, even if they happened to have glimpsed the black ribbon she wound in her hair, or how she now received less mail than before. Tom grieved too, in the way that one did when a cousin died, solemnly and without much fuss. After all, he and Mairead had their jobs to keep, regardless of whether or not they were fond of their employers' country for what it'd done to them.

"Let me know before you leave tomorrow?" She glanced up at him, once more the little girl he knew from years ago, her dark eyes wide and pleading.

"What makes you think-?"

"Tomorrow's your half-day, isn't it?" she asked, inclining her head in question.

He nodded, mystified as to how she knew that. He rarely used his half-days, deciding that it was often better to stay on the estate in case of an emergency. Tinkering with the Renault and reading filled his free hours enough that he was satisfied. "How did you figure that out?"

"I just did," she said, childish flippancy surfacing in her voice for a moment. "I've been working here a year, Tom. Don't expect me t'have learned nothing."

"Your mam would be proud," he told her, planting a kiss on her forehead. "Have you heard from her lately?"

"Aye. She said Lisebeth's gonna come start work in the scullery at the Downings' home." There was a trace of fear in his cousin's voice as she spoke, as if the Downings' residence in Manchester were as treacherous as the trenches were said to be. "I hope she's smart about it."

"And why wouldn't she be? Your mam's a clever woman, and the Downings are kind, at least from what I've heard."

He wasn't as familiar with Lisebeth as he was with his other cousins, among which she was the youngest. He knew she resembled her father's sister Bridget, with fair hair and dark eyes, and that she was two years younger than Mairead. He'd always pictured her as being like Lady Sybil- gentle-hearted, idealistic, optimistic- and perhaps he wasn't too far off.

"It's not them I'm worried about," she said, her mood shifting to a shade darker than it already was, the child gone from her demeanor, replaced by a woman far older than Mairead.

"Then what is it?"

She shook her head and pulled away from him, any traces of the concern that might've driven her down here gone, almost into thin air. "Something else," she said.

"Then tell me, perhaps I can write Alice about it and-"

"No!" She looked startled at her own cry, which was riddled with as much anger as it was fear, and Tom thought for a moment that he saw an angry blush creep up her neck and into her cheeks. "Not now. Another time, perhaps, but not now. Please," she said.

He nodded stiffly, wanting to inquire further, something he would've pursued, had it not grown darker since her arrival. "Of course," he said. "Y'best be getting up to the house now, before anyone starts to think we're more than good family friends."

He'd meant it as a jest, though it came out more bitter than he expected it to. He knew the other housemaids- Alice, Ethel, Lucy, and the new one, Nellie- teased her for it when she first arrived, and perhaps they continued to, but he didn't know the answer to that question. He also knew that she hated it, and it seemed like the only way to get her to leave.

"Goodnight Tom," she said, turning to go, her composure returning with astonishing swiftness. "Take care."

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**A/N: So there's that. **

**I hope you enjoyed and thank you so much for reading. Now that Sybil's in the picture, things are going to pick up and we're going to see what a housemaid might have to say on a few of the events that transpire at Downton. **

**I feel I have to answer 's question about the note, so here goes: **

**The note was originally part of the previous chapter, however, I decided to cut it because I decided that it was simple enough (in my mind) that it should be obvious. We'll see it in two chapters, along with some Sybil and Mairead interaction that might be interesting...**

**Thank you, and feel free to review~**


	7. Mischief

**A/N: So here's Chapter Seven. **

**I'm trying to do a considerable amount of updating before the weekend, so I have reviews to mull over (I also have to completely rewrite a chapter, which is always tedious) and stuff...**

**A note: I wasn't paying attention when I decided the location of the livery closet, because in one account I read about a great house like Downton, the livery closet was in the vestibule between the men's and women's quarters. Having watched S2EP2 last night, I've realized that in Downton's case, it's not. But for now, let's pretend it is. **

**Disclaimer: I'm not a Crawley, and therefore I don't own _Downton Abbey._ **

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_April 1917_

"You're up to something."

Mairead's accusation caught Tom off-guard, causing him to miss a buttonhole in the livery jacket he was borrowing for the evening.

He glanced up and saw her in the doorway of the women's hall, her dark eyes fixed on him as he stood outside the livery closet. "What has you thinking that?" he asked, correcting his mistake before smoothing out any wrinkles in the dark fabric of the jacket.

She placed her hands on her hips, more silhouette than anything in the dimmed lights of the hallway. "Ink and sour milk," she answered, and he could see her nose wrinkle as she took a few steps closer, her features finally coming into the light. "Don't think I don't know the smell of trouble when I catch it, Tom."

"I don't know what you mean." A lie, but she didn't need to know that. It was better that she think he wasn't planning anything against the visiting general, no matter how harmless it seemed.

She rolled her eyes, and for a moment, her mother stood in her place, and he was reminded of the time when he, along with Will, Sam, and Kieran, had planned a prank on the local priest- Father Timothy had been his name- that was similar to what he was about to do.

_A prank. _

He almost laughed at the thought of something he'd done as a prank being done as an act of objection, but laughing would only give away his guilt. Oh, how the world had changed since he was younger, both for good and for ill. The streets in Dublin where he and Sam had played as boys had become their battleground, it seemed, and a prank became a form of protest. It was all so strange to realize, that these things had changed in such a way, but some things never changed, that was certain.

"You've ink on your fingers," his cousin pointed out with the exasperation of a mother with more babes than she could handle- her mother's exasperation, passed from the older woman to the girl who stood in the small, dimly-lit vestibule. "You're lucky you haven't gotten it all over the liv'ry. I imagine Mr. Carson'd be livid if y'did."

_He'll be even more livid- no, not livid, furious. He'll be furious if I succeed, _Tom thought, keeping his expression set in its usual neutrality, even as he mentally kicked himself for letting the inkstains go unnoticed by all but him. Even though he'd be wearing gloves while serving dinner, he had no doubt that he would be reprimanded and brought under suspicion should anyone else among the staff noticed the stains.

"And the milk?"

"Daisy asked me to toss out the milk that'd soured, but where should it be when I go t'do it but missing?"

"I don't see how you'd figure it was me."

Another mental kick.

How guilty did he sound, saying that? He knew he didn't look the part- his lips kept in a tight, inexpressive line, his eyes holding his cousin's attention, and no moves made to shake the beginnings of sweat he felt slipping down his neck- but his voice could easily betray him through details so small, they may have gone unnoticed, but it wasn't something to count on. Had he hesitated? Had those last three words of his statement accidentally come out more firmly than the words preceding them?

"I remember when you, Kieran, and my brothers-" Grief flashed in her eyes, and she looked as if she were about to correct "brothers" to "brother," but she forced herself onward. "When you dumped that soup on Father Timothy. What was in it again?" she asked, her sternness falling away to show the beguiling innocence of a nine-year-old girl (which was, Tom recalled, how old Mairead had been at the time of the event).

"Ink, grease, sour milk, an' cow pat," he told her, grinning a little at the memory. "That was an amusing Sunday."

Her own lips twisted into a grin, the brightest he'd seen from her since they'd met at the platform. "It was, wasn't it?" she mused, the grin losing its brilliance to the wicked glint he caught in her eye. "And dinner'll be just as amusing for His Lordship, I reckon. Perhaps I'll slip in and watch."

_Dear Lord, _Tom thought, realizing that his cousin was perhaps a bit more clever than he'd thought. No, she wasn't. What he'd just fallen prey to was the simple cleverness of a young girl, the same young girl who learned to haggle like a farmer's wife before she could bake bread, not the cleverness of rhetoric. She knew him well enough that she knew how to get what she wanted, and she'd been willing to take the risk of him seeing through her.

Of course, fool he was, he'd fallen for it- hook, line, and sinker. There were a thousand excuses that he could make for himself, a thousand reasons as to why he'd let her get the better of him (there was one right there: he'd _let _her win), but it was as simple as him being a fool.

_A love-addled fool, _Sam had jokingly called him in a letter after Tom had written about Sybil (leaving out her name of course, as well as the fact that he was employed by her father), asking for advice. No doubt Mairead would've agreed with her brother, but now there would be no way to tell, and that was part of why Tom felt he had to make some kind of display towards the visiting general.

It was petty vengeance- he could see that- but if it came down to a life for a life, Tom knew he couldn't do it, and so this was going to be it. This was going to be as far as he'd go, horrifying His Lordship and his family by humiliating the visiting general.

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**A/N: Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. General Strutt's visit is something I thought might be interesting to touch on in terms of Mairead and Tom, and it also explores who Mairead was vs. who she is now, and how Tom deals with that. More on that later.**

**Thank you and do feel free to leave a review~**


	8. Go Between

**A/N: So I apologize for the mass updating that's going on. I want to get some of it out of the way before the weekend, and because I want to see how this goes over with the larger fanfic community. **

**Y'all have been incredibly supportive, and for that I am thankful. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Downton Abbey. _**

**Disclaimer Pt. 2: This chapter (chronologically) belongs after S2EP2, but contains references to events from S2EP5 and S2EP6, because reasons. **

**Enjoy~**

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_May 1917_

Mairead wasn't surprised to hear that Tom and Lady Sybil's affair had been found out by none other than Lady Mary. It was bound to happen sooner or later, and the Lord knew it would be much worse for the two lovers (specifically Tom) if they'd been discovered by O'Brien or Mr. Carson.

It was sure to be trouble if O'Brien found out, anyone could see that. Even keeping to herself hadn't spared Mairead from the wrath of the lady's maid, though she had the good luck of escaping with no more than a scolding, and not a sacking. Mairead didn't believe in people who were completely, one-hundred-percent evil, but she found herself questioning that belief as she spent more time in the servants' hall doing Lady Sybil's mending while O'Brien worked on Her Ladyship's garments, her eyes darting to the young Irishwoman, as if the transition between housemaid and revolutionary could happen in a trice.

The older woman smelled like tobacco smoke layered over diluted perfume, and the desire she seemed to have, to want to have every member of the staff who posed a threat to her or her nephew (who was actually quite decent, and it made Mairead wonder if O'Brien was just a black sheep) spend the rest of their days at Downton looking over their shoulder made her someone to be wary of. Every ounce of self-preservation that Mairead had acquired in her career as a housemaid screamed to be cautious around this woman. She was ambitious, that was for certain, but her ambition was dangerous, seeing as there was nothing the lady's maid would stop at to achieve her ends.

If O'Brien found out, only the Lord knew what would happen. Mairead assumed that she'd tell Her Ladyship, who would then tell His Lordship, who would then tell Mr. Carson to sack Tom and that would be that. Sybil would be devastated (Mairead regretted admitting that she was starting to care for the woman Tom loved, if only slightly), and Mairead had the feeling that the lady would make good on her promise to run away with Tom, something she knew His Lordship wouldn't stand for.

Carson finding out only meant a quick, probably unexplained sacking of the chauffeur, and perhaps a mention of the affair to His Lordship. That was the kind of man the butler struck her to be, the kind who dealt with the source of the problem in a way that drew little to no attention to it. It kept the house running smoothly, that Mairead wouldn't deny, and she couldn't complain if she was still making a decent sum with no unpleasant expectations of her.

She wondered if Anna suspected anything, especially after finding the note addressed to Sybil begging forgiveness for an action that Tom never went through with (and thank God for that!). To be honest, Mairead wasn't sure where her opinion on the head housemaid stood, whether she could be trusted or not. She wasn't as irritable as O'Brien, which was always something to be thankful for, but instinct told Mairead that the amount of kindness Anna was capable of displaying was meant to make harsh remarks sting even more. No one could be that nice, not without having something to hide at least.

It amused Mairead, how in her previous post she'd known figures similar to many of the staff of Downton. Her mother, though easily younger by decades, was a female reflection of Mr. Carson, her fading brown hair done up in a knot that was purely functional, her stern, always-level voice compensating for the lack of authority usually commanded by her lithe figure, and her way of executing every task with deadly precision. The butler of Downton and the housekeeper of the Downing family differed in that he was more Duncan than Lady Macbeth, which was how Mairead saw it after reading _Macbeth_ (it'd been a gift from Sam and Isibàel for Christmas a few years ago, along with her brother's copies of _The Taming of the Shrew_ and _As You Will_). O'Brien was a close match to Mrs. Peters, who'd been lady's maid to Mrs. Downing when Mairead left, and known co-conspirator with Mr. Downing's valet. Anna's kindness could be found in memories of Kate, the dark-haired kitchen maid who was somehow able to soothe even the most violent tempers (the scullery maid used to remark on how Kate could probably convince the unicorns to come back to England, which was a silly notion, given that unicorns probably didn't exist in the first place).

"Mairead, Mr. Branson asked me to give this to you," Mrs. Hughes said, presenting the housemaid with a plain envelope that had her name written in her cousin's neat handwriting on the back.

"Thank you Mrs. Hughes," came her reply as she took the envelope, opening it with her thumbnail (a crude method, but it was rather efficient, so Mairead could hardly complain). She wondered what her cousin had to say, that he couldn't say it to her straight-on.

The housekeeper nodded. "You're very welcome," she said. "Now don't be long- the gong'll ring any minute now."

The gong.

Only recently had Mairead had to "heed the gong," as Alice put it, seeing as Lady Sybil had asked for Mairead to train as a lady's maid, which Anna had agreed to, saying it would be a good experience for the third housemaid. Of course, this served as a cover, allowing Mairead to be the (somewhat reluctant) go-between for her cousin and the youngest Crawley sister. She had no intention of progressing beyond being a housemaid, but it was nice, she supposed, to have a chance to prepare for the inevitable day when she would be head housemaid. It would come eventually, that day when she sat in Anna's place at the servants' table, but for now she was stuck with O'Brien's nephew on one side and Lucy on the other. By the time that day came, all the Crawley sisters would be married, and there'd be no point in having a lady's maid's skills, unless O'Brien took ill or left.

"Of course." Mairead turned her attention to the letter, her eyes darting along the page, hoping to finish it before anyone else came in to disrupt her.

_Mairead- _

_Please tell Lady Sybil not to come down to the garage for a while. It's too risky, and I don't dare show myself up at the house for some time either. I think it will be better for the both of us, at least until we can get it sorted out. _

_Thank you,_

_Tom_

She folded the letter and slipped it into her apron pocket, making sure it wasn't going to fall out between now and the upstairs dinner. There was too great of a risk of Tom and Sybil's affair being exposed if the wrong person (meaning everyone but Mairead, Sybil, and Tom) happened upon it, not to mention she was at risk of being sacked for acting as a go-between. She could picture Mr. Carson now, reprimanding her "for encouraging and enabling scandalous activities," and it didn't make her laugh, as it might one of the other maids. She knew he'd be right, that she was doing just that, and it would all fall on her head.

As she climbed the servants' staircase to Lady Sybil's dressing room, she rehearsed her cousin's message in her head, hoping that the lady would take it to heart and exercise caution in regard to her affair. She knocked on Sybil's door softly, taking half a step back out of caution.

"Come in," the youngest Crawley sister said, and Mairead obeyed, opening the door just wide enough for her to slip through before easing it shut. "Oh Mairead, it's you! Any word from Tom?"

"Yes m'lady," Mairead answered, setting to work with helping Lady Sybil change into her dress for dinner, deftly handling the delicate fabric, as if she'd been brought up to manage the wardrobe of a lady such as Lady Sybil.

A smile spread across her face, and the room seemed to brighten (_Look at you, _Mairead thought. _You're not even in love with her-and thank Heaven for that!- and you're seeing it all the same way as Tom. Silly lass._). "What does he have to say?"

Mairead took a breath, steadying herself and preparing her words. "He thinks you should stay away from the garage for some time, m'lady. Now that Lady Mary knows, he thinks it would be best if-"

"If he loves me, he'll brave whatever happens as a result," the lady interrupted, glancing over her shoulder at Mairead, watching as the housemaid did up the back of her dress. "He knows I'd risk so-called ruin for him, so why won't he risk the same for me?"

"Because it's different for us, m'lady." The words came out laced with more venom than intended, and Mairead could see the shock in Lady Sybil's dark eyes. "For us, this is how we make our way in the world."

"Certainly there are other ways," came Sybil's response. She was clearly trying to recover from Mairead's words, trying to be insightful, but all Mairead heard was the unawareness that the upper class had of anything other than dinner parties and balls.

"There are," she countered. "But they're by no means as reliable, nor are they guaranteed to be as safe as life in service." _Best to try and soothe the wound, _she thought, going to retrieve the necklace and earrings that went with the gown, leaving Sybil to seat herself at the vanity.

"Where did you work before Downton, then?" The lady seemed to have recovered from the brief spat, perhaps realizing that the world her maid belonged to was very different from her own.

There was only a moment's hesitation before Mairead answered, "Manchester, m'lady."

A look passed across the lady's features, one Mairead recognized as containing a hint of pity. But why? Was it the feigned pity of the upper class that they so often directed towards their staff or lessers, or was it genuine?

"So you worked in a factory then?"

"No m'lady." Mairead ran the soft brush through Lady Sybil's dark hair, smoothing out the curls and gently working through the small knots that came with having one's hair in the same position all day.

"Where then?"

"In the Downing household." She felt her heart quicken at the name of her previous employers, an unpleasant sort of quickening, like when you get unnecessarily frightened but are left with the adrenaline of it all in your blood for ages.

"I don't think I've ever heard the name," Sybil remarked. "When were they presented at court?"

"They're not peers, m'lady," came Mairead's reply. "Mr. Downing's father made a fortune in steel and iron, and the family's been in the business ever since."

Dark eyes lit up. "Industrialists then?"

"Yes, m'lady."

"Any children?"

_His Lordship might be more upset if she married one of the Downing boys than if she married Tom, _Mairead mused, coaxing Sybil's dark hair into an intricate chignon. She knew it wasn't true, that His Lordship would prefer the son of a wealthy industrialist to a chauffeur any day, especially since the Downing family had money.

"Two sons and a daughter, m'lady."

"I suppose the sons are serving now?"

"I don't know, m'lady." _And I don't care. _

"Mairead, you mustn't call me "m'lady" all the time," Sybil said, turning around to face the maid. "Soon Tom and I will be married, and it'll be just "Sybil," understand?"

Mairead gave the woman a quick nod. "Certainly, m'l-Sybil. Will that be all?"

A defeated sigh escaped the youngest Crawley sister's lips. "I suppose it shall. I can dress myself for bed tonight, Mairead, so don't wait up for me."

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**A/N: Mairead doesn't like Sybil much, does she? Well, we'll see I suppose, if she warms up to Sybil or not. And what about the Downings? What's the deal with them? I don't know. We'll see. **

**Until then, thank you for reading and please let me know what you think. **

**Thank you~**


	9. In the Courtyard

**A/N: I know at some point I promised some chapters from the POV of other staff members, so here's the first one, with none other than Mr. Thomas Barrow. **

**Disclaimer: Same as every other chapter. Don't own _Downton Abbey. _Got it? Good. **

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_February 1918 _

Cold air bit at the tips of Thomas's fingers as he took a drag of his cigarette, enjoying the stillness that trembled in the courtyard. Overhead, there was nothing but a sky so pale blue it was almost white, and occasionally, he spotted the dark shapes of birds as they winged their way to God-knows-where. Silence hung over the hoarfrost-riddled space, framing the familiar scene of a hall boy collecting coal for the house while another carried wood in through the servants' entrance.

_It's as if some things never change, _he thought, pursing his lips and exhaling silently, as if anything louder than a breath would rob the moment of its pristine beauty forever.

"Leave me be!"

Thomas's jaw tightened as the plea split the silence, even though it was no more than a whispered hiss, barely loud enough to be heard from his usual spot. He'd almost forgotten the dramatics of the housemaids, the vicious exchanges of soured courtships (courtships that were already doomed by their occupation), and sobbing anger of the young women who came to lick their wounds in what was usually the domain of hallboys and footmen. Some, of course, sought solitude here, such as himself, and others came to smoke and neglect their work (he was also among those "others," though not as often as O'Brien was), perhaps then, would a housemaid venture outdoors.

"Why? So you can snitch on us and get us sacked too?"

His attention flickered over towards the door, which was hanging open, allowing some of the sound to drift from the kitchen and hallway, into the courtyard. Not far from the door, he caught sight of the dirty-blonde hair and slightly pinched features of Lucy, along with her accomplice-Nellie was her name- who hung back almost like a reluctant shadow. There was a third housemaid, and for a moment Thomas thought it might be her dramatics that drew Lucy and Nellie outside, that maybe he would get to witness a proper spat between the three housemaids.

He wondered what it was a fight over.

It had to be something like a footman (though Molesley wasn't worth it, in Thomas's opinion, and neither was Lang), or even a hall boy, for if he knew anything about Lucy, it was a petty issue like courtship. All he wanted was for them to get it over with and leave, so he could enjoy the peace and quiet while there wasn't anyone calling after him to do this or do that. True, it was less of a bore than life in service, when it was the same thing all the time, day after day, but it felt twice as demanding, even if he was more or less in charge.

"For the last time, I didn't tell!"

Thomas could hear a distinctly Irish lilt as the third maid raised her voice, putting a considerable amount of force behind it as she did so. Once more, he found himself wondering, this time about what Lucy was accusing her of. The Lord knew Lucy did her share of "snitching," and Thomas admitted that sometimes he did too, but always within reason, unlike the blonde maid.

The only reasons she stirred up trouble was for the sake of trouble, without regard for tact or strategy. Lucy, Thomas concluded, didn't understand the concept of biding one's time, which was what he'd found to be most useful. At least he was careful about covering his tracks, whereas Lucy wanted everyone to know it was her, as if she expected applause for giving the downstairs the semblance of a farce. She was as bellicose as O'Brien could be at times, but unlike the lady's maid, Lucy's anger rarely built up, and it was inspired by petty things. O'Brien knew how to hold a grudge, patience being her chief (if only) virtue, and that made her all the more powerful, and far better a partner than Lucy.

"Who else could've known but you?" Lucy challenged, her hands on her waist as she took a purposeful step towards her victim. "It's not like Ethel was making a show of it."

_So that's what this is about, _he thought, taking another drag of his cigarette and quietly making his way a little closer to the quarrel. He positioned himself between a few stacks of crates, out of the maids' direct line of sight, but still in a position to watch it from a distance.

He had no desire to intervene, not when watching it unfold was all the more...interesting. It was one thing to cause a stir, but a whole other to watch it, and for once, Thomas opted for watching. Maybe he could gain something useful from this- information to use at a later date, perhaps- but that all depended on his ability to remain silent. Folks spoke more if they didn't know you were there- that was something he'd learned a long time ago- and he intended to glean as much information as he possibly could, because the Lord knew it might be useful later.

"I don't see what that's got t'do with anything," the auburn-haired maid protested. "You know I stay out of gossip."

"But that doesn't keep you from hearing it, does it?"

"So what if I do?"

A smirk crossed Lucy's lips. "You're just protecting your little romance with the chauffeur, aren't ya? Isn't he a bit old for ya?"

"I'm not-"

"Oh, but y'are, aren't ya? I see how you look at him whenever he comes up to the house."

"The same way y'looked at that one officer th'other day," he heard Nellie chime in.

Thomas could picture Lucy arching her brow at Alice's comment, creating the effect of a weasel who'd found a chicken all on its own and was now intent on pursuing it.

"Because he worked with me at m'last post, that's why!"

"Then why'd y'leave?" Lucy challenged, taking a step towards her victim, effectively cornering the young woman. "He's 'andsome enough t'be worth staying in Hell for."

Thomas came closer, so he would be able to see and hear everything better, keeping his distance enough to be ignored. Perhaps there was something to be learned from this confrontation, pointless though it seemed. There was some sort of connection between the auburn-haired maid and the chauffeur (besides the fact that both were Irish, though didn't birds of a feather usually flock together?), as well as a connection to one of the officers, which he could easily investigate if he chose to.

From this newfound vantage point, he could see something undecipherable flash across the maid's eyes at the mention of her previous post. _Now why would that be? _the ex-footman wondered, furrowing his brow. He knew there were plenty of reasons to leave service, or to go to another household, and he had some sort of idea about what had prompted the girl to leave, but, before he came to a conclusion himself, he would simply watch and gather evidence, then decide.

She didn't seem like the sort who would be sacked for breaking rules or speaking out of turn; she had a cleverness to her, which Thomas recognized almost immediately in the way she seemed to be playing with Lucy as much as the blonde maid was playing with her. She practically radiated pride, cornered as she was, her chin held high and dark eyes lit up with the steady burn of someone who aspired to more than what she was, who did above and beyond what was required of her, and took pride in her work (even if it was all for naught, as the work of maids and footmen often seemed). He liked that, and he reckoned Mr. Carson did too, unless she was as sharp-tongued indoors as she was now. That made her useful, for sure, as long as she knew where she stood, and he didn't doubt she did.

"There wasn't anything for me in Manchester," came her flat reply as she backed up, almost losing her footing on the flagstones.

"If we asked Officer Grant why Meg left, what would 'e say?" Lucy wondered aloud.

"He'd tell the truth," Meg stated, making a move to force Lucy back and perhaps open an avenue of escape, only to be shoved backwards by the taller girl. Thomas could see her jaw tighten as she clambered to her feet, taking a couple of steps back from Lucy and Nellie. Her chest rose and fell as she struggled to keep her expression neutral, though he could feel the quiet rage that charged the air around her, the kind of rage that stemmed from humiliation and built up over time.

He barely noticed that his cigarette had gone cold, a thread of smoke curling up from the stub between his fingers, the last sign of heat before a sharp breeze killed it completely. The confrontation between the maids had captured his attention, and he almost forgot that those three had interrupted his morning ritual. His curiosity had been piqued by Meg's history, and (though he would never admit it) he was beginning to sympathize with the girl, seeing her pushed around by Lucy. If he hadn't a reputation to maintain, he supposed he might make a friend of her, though she would be a valuable ally regardless.

The two weren't the same, however close they seemed. Anna and William had been friends (ever since they were small, apparently), but William and Matthew Crawley were allies, just two soldiers on the same side, and nothing more. It was as simple as that. Lucy and Nellie? They were allies, that was for sure, though Nellie probably thought they were friends, which was her mistake.

"Which is…?"

"I told ya," Meg said, ignoring the dark red curl that'd fallen out of place. "There wasn't anything for me."

"Thought you'd have a go at the country boys, then?" Lucy raised her brows, looking down on the shorter maid much in the same way Mr. Carson looked down on Branson, her disapproval evident. "Couldn't find a fellow who didn't know what making love to an Irish slut was like? Or did they realize you weren't worth risking their jobs? Which is it?"

Meg's jaw dropped, and her hands curled into fists at her side, shaking ever-so slightly as she fought to keep her injury from showing. "Wha'e'er happened to minding your own business?" she bristled. "Lord knows you've been with every hall boy at some time or other."

Thomas bit back a laugh as he slunk away, leaving the three to continue their spat until Mrs. Hughes or Mrs. Patmore came out to scold them- he wasn't in the mood to interfere, not when it meant he'd get pulled into the mess too. He made a note to keep an eye on Meg though, and to keep an ear out for any more pieces of her story. He'd ask Officer Grant about her as soon as he reported for duty, and see how many of Lucy's accusations had been false.

So far the day was looking bright for him. No unpleasant exchanges between him and O'Brien, no too-curious-for-their-own-good hall boys, and no unwanted attention in general. That was something Thomas would consider an accomplishment, not to mention that he'd identified a potential ally in Meg. Only time would tell where that went, of course, but he was surprisingly optimistic about her, having recognized in her so many of the traits he'd possessed as a young man just entering service: ambition, cleverness, and pride. She could very well end up as Downton's housekeeper some day, and he wanted to be there when she did.

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**A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter. **

**This chapter was a fun challenge for me to write, because it's rather daunting, trying to get inside Thomas's head and figure out what he might see in Mairead. He strikes me as the kind of person who would hang out in the courtyard in the early morning just to have that one cigarette, and he likes to have it alone, most times, I'd reckon. I definitely want to know what you think, about whether or not he would actually care about the dramatics of housemaids, or if he would even care to ally himself with Mairead. I guess what I'm going at is how true-to-canon did I manage to write him? **

**So with that, reviews are more than welcome, and yes, we will be seeing more of Thomas in the future. **

**Thank you~**


	10. Dismissal

**A/N: So this is the end of my updating spree for now. **

**I wanted to bring in some more senior staff POV stuff, so here's a bit with Mrs. Hughes. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Downton Abbey, _nor is Lucy mine. Nellie's mine though. **

**Enjoy~**

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"These three were out squabblin' in the courtyard just now," Mrs. Patmore declared as she opened the door to Elsie's sitting room, hovering just on the other side of the threshold as she ushered in Lucy, Nellie, and finally, Mairead. "They were making enough ruckus to wake the dead, mind you. It's a wonder Sergeant Barrow"-her nose wrinkled at the ex-footman's new title- "didn't bring them to you 'imself."

Elsie suppressed a resigned sigh and nodded. "Thank you, Mrs. Patmore," she said, turning her attention to the maids and assuming an air of command.

The cook let out a satisfied "hmphf," before closing the door behind her, leaving the housekeeper alone with three of her charges.

"Could any of you girls explain why Mrs. Patmore felt the need to bring you to me?"

It was Lucy who spoke first, taking a step so she was out of line with Mairead and Nellie and lifting her chin with an awkward jerk, as if she were being torn from a reverie. "We were telling Mairead that she ought to 'ave told you about Ethel and Major Bryant, so you'd be able to nip it in the bud before it got to the point that you 'ad to sack her," she said, her shoulders rolling back as she cast a glance at Mairead.

The sigh she'd been able to suppress earlier slipped past Elsie's lips at the mention of Ethel, and, as much as she wanted to dismiss Lucy's accusation, Elsie knew she would be better off dealing with this while it was between the three housemaids, before it expanded beyond a realm of her control. There wouldn't be any peace until judgement was passed, that was sure, but how was she to do that without appearing to take sides? Lucy, Nellie, and Mairead were all hard workers, and for that Elsie was grateful, especially with Downton playing host to so many injured soldiers as it was, but she didn't know them well enough to act fairly.

"Mairead, is this true?" The housekeeper's gaze settled on the young woman, who stood at attention, her lips settled in an unreadable line.

Ever since their first meeting, when Mairead'd come to be interviewed for her post, Elsie had been impressed by the young woman, not only because of her hard work, but the forthright manner with which she'd admitted to leaving her previous post because she felt uncomfortable with her mother as the housekeeper. There were few who would admit to something like that, and she could tell that even Mairead had almost been too proud to tell the truth, hesitating before revealing her reason to Downton's housekeeper.

There were times when she wondered what Mairead's mother was like, though she kept from asking out of respect for the girl's privacy. It was possible that the young woman didn't really know her mother, seeing as she was most likely raised by an aunt until she was old enough to work, which seemed the only likely way that a housekeeper could manage raising children.

Lucy glanced at Mairead again, this time giving her head a little toss, as if she were a prize pony at the fair. Her eyebrows rose in questioning arches, and Elsie caught a trace of smugness in the blonde maid's pursed lips.

"Lucy, Nellie," she said, watching Nellie this time, trying to gauge what her role in all this was, "wait in the servants' hall until I send for you."

"Yes Mrs. Hughes," Nellie murmured, giving a quick bow before stepping towards the door, and then, as if she'd forgotten something, glancing back at Lucy, who hadn't moved. "Lucy, Mrs. Hughes asked us to go."

"I know, but you go on. I wont' be long," Lucy said. "Just got t'make sure of something."

Had Elsie not been exhausted from dealing with Ethel as well as other disruptions that'd come up since the woman's dismissal, she would've repeated herself, perhaps even summoned Carson to help her, but she only made a quick gesture of dismissal towards Nellie and let her focus settle on Lucy and Mairead. She'd try to keep this quick, so poor Nellie wasn't left waiting on her own for too long. The sooner this was over with, the sooner things could make their way back to normalcy, and the sooner the housekeeper could catch her breath.

"Mairead, is Lucy telling the truth? Did you know about Ethel and Major Bryant?"

"No ma'am," Mairead answered, giving her head a gentle shake as her brows came together in a fleeting expression of worry. "I didn't know."

_Which means Lucy's lying, _Elsie concluded silently, watching Lucy's eyes narrow and her jaw clench in what could only be frustration. Had she really expected that she would get away with her accusation? It was a high hope for the maid to have, that the housekeeper would be so easily fooled. _Or Mairead is. _

"Are y'just saying that because it's not useful to you anymore, now that Ethel's out of your way?"

"Lucy!"

"What?" The housemaid's eyes widened in an expression of innocence that dripped with falsehood to the point that Elsie felt she might retch. "It is the truth, Mrs. Hughes. She's not as innocent as she looks- she's almost as bad as Thomas or Mrs. O'Brien, not t'mention she's sweet on that rabble-rouser of a chauffeur. _Too _sweet, I might say."

That was it.

In her three years at Downton, Lucy always sought trouble, sometimes creating it as she was now, but it had always been small, always been harmless. Never had Mrs. Hughes been put in a position where she had to act as the law when it came to Lucy. True, the girl had always bothered the housekeeper, with her dangerous charisma and her habit of stepping out of line, but she was a hard worker, and Elsie appreciated it enough to turn a blind eye.

_Well look what that led to, _she thought. her lips pressed together as she kept her attention fixated on Lucy, like a hawk on its prey. She kept some kindness in her eyes after she caught Mairead's expression harden, as if she were bracing herself to be scolded by the housekeeper.

"Mairead can defend herself, I think," the housekeeper said. "And you, Miss Bower, can go pack your valise and say your goodbyes."

It was a cruel judgement to make, but in her heart, Elsie knew it would be for the better if Lucy was dismissed. She'd write a good reference, of course (a hard worker like Lucy deserved at least that much), and would send the girl with what was owed her, but she simply couldn't keep her on the staff. Lucy was smart- she'd find something that was perhaps better than life in service- and Elsie wished her all the best.

Lucy swallowed, her smug demeanor faltering for a moment. "Yes Mrs. Hughes," she said, forcing her lips to bend into a haughty smile. "I'll be out on the noon train then."

"And it's best you are," Elsie said, shaking her head. "I'll draw up your reference and settle your wages right away, don't you worry."

_And I'll ask Mr. Carson to place an advertisement at the registrar's as soon as he's able, _she thought wearily. Two maids in the last week… Mr. Carson was going to have a fit when he found out, that was for sure.

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**A/N: So there's Lucy out of the picture. I thought it might be interesting to explore the topic of Ethel (I didn't like her that much, personally, but then again, Gwen was always my favorite) in relationship to the other housemaids, and I thought it might be interesting to have Mrs. Hughes (aka The Mother of Team Downstairs) have a moment with Mairead, especially in one of these "under pressure" situations, like when you're accused of hiding information. The Lord knows what Mairead knows about everything in the staff (even I get a bit shocked sometimes, realizing that "whoa, she picked up on (for example) Ethel's major crush on every male ever (sorry, I don't like her that much, so I poke fun at her) but specifically Major Bryant, but didn't say anything?" **

**And this is why Thomas might find her valuable in the future...just saying. **

**Anyways, thank you for reading and I hope you all have lovely weekends~ I will finish as soon as I can so I can go back to updating like a total crazy woman. **

**Thank you~**


	11. Elopement

**A/N: So here's chapter eleven. **

**This is further exploration of the Sybil-Mairead dynamic, as well as a polite nod to tumblr users ladysybilbransonn and wintersbxcky, who helped me through the dynamic a lot in the early stages of Mairead's development. **

**I hope you enjoy reading this, and soon we'll be more caught up and Mairead'll be making a bit more of a stir, I think. ****  
**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Downton Abbey_  
**

**Enjoy~**

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_March 1919_

_Knock. Knock. _

"M'lady?"

Mairead was greeted with silence, and so, she tried again, careful to keep her voice down, in case any of the Crawley women or Miss Swire were resting before the dressing gong rang, which would be within the next half-hour or so.

"M'lady?"

Her second attempt was greeted with the same silence as the first, and Mairead felt her heart begin to quicken in her chest. She thought of all the possible explanations for why Lady Sybil hadn't answered her as she waited outside in the hall, trying to keep the impatient smirk from creeping across her face.

_She probably fell asleep, _Mairead thought as she glanced up the hall, still waiting.

Finally, she heard Lady Sybil's soft "come in," and she obeyed, her heart settling back into a steady rhythm as she opened the door. "Good evening m'lady," she said, closing the door behind her.

Lady Sybil didn't glance up from the bag she was packing. "Oh, good evening Mairead," she said. "How are you?"

Mairead eyed the bag. _That's odd, _she thought, still rooted in place. _I don't remember Mrs. Hughes saying anything about Lady Sybil traveling. _

"I'm well, m'lady," came the maid's answer. "Would you like me to do that for you during dinner?"

Sybil shook her head. "No thank you. I can manage it on my own." She abandoned the bag and perched herself on the bed, watching as Mairead returned a couple dresses to the wardrobe. "Have you seen Tom at all today?"

"No m'lady," Mairead said, not pausing her work. "He went to pick up the Dowager and Mrs. Crawley from the village not long ago, a'least that's what Mrs. Moorsum said."

The older woman was always "Mrs. Moorsum" to Mairead, never "Jane," no matter how many times she or Anna corrected her, or assured her that it was alright to refer to her by her Christian name.

"Did he leave you with any messages?"

"No. Like I said, I haven't seen him all day." She stopped with her dusting and glanced at Sybil. "Were you expecting something from him?"

The lady's posture loosened, her shoulders curving inward as her chin dipped to her chest. "No," she said, her voice noticeably more sullen. After a moment of pensive silent, she raised her head and met Mairead's gaze. "Mairead, can you keep a secret?"

Mairead was no stranger to secrets; everyone had them, and Lord knew she had some of her own. "I can try m'lady," she said. "Things don't stay secret for long in this house, but I will do my best." The observation came out without much thought, and she cursed herself for saying such a thing, which would certainly shed a less trustworthy light on her in Lady Sybil's eyes.

"I'd imagine it's something you'll want to keep to yourself, since it's about Tom."

_Please don't let it be that you're pregnant. _

Hopefully Tom hadn't gotten Sybil pregnant- that would just add a whole other twist in things, for sure. Between him and Sam, Tom had always been the more responsible one, and Mairead could only hope that being in love with Lady Sybil hadn't changed that. She couldn't picture him intentionally impregnating a woman who wasn't his wife (never mind the daughter of his employer), but he'd clearly changed since coming to Downton. Maybe part of that change had been that he'd become more reckless- his affair with Sybil had hinted at it enough that it seemed likely.

"Certainly m'lady."

_Don't be pregnant, _Mairead found herself thinking again. _Or else I might have to get at him before Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes do. Nevermind what his mam'll say. _

"Tom and I are going to elope."

The spring that'd been coiled in Mairead's chest released itself, only to snap back into place and drop a weight in her stomach. "Eloping?" That was almost just as bad as Lady Sybil being with child, perhaps even worse. "When?"

"Do you swear not to tell anyone?"

"I-"

"Swear it."

"M'lady-"

"Sybil," she corrected, her words followed by a heavy sigh. "I won't be "m'lady" after tonight. I'll be Sybil Branson, do you understand?"  
The small victory of receiving an answer to her question without having to swear secrecy was forgotten in Mairead's astonishment at Sybil's declaration. "Yes m'la- Yes Sybil." It felt odd, using the lady's first name without any title attached, or forgoing the "m'lady."

Back in the Downing's household, none of the family members were titled, but even then, it was Mr. and Mrs. Downing, and their children, Master Richard, Miss Helen, and Master Nathaniel. Here, at Downton, it was different, obviously, because the Crawleys were titled. There was Lord and Lady Grantham, and the Ladies Mary, Edith, and Sybil. "Yes miss," and "yes sir" became "yes m'lady," and "yes m'lord," with some difficulty on Mairead's part, but she'd gotten it eventually, and that was what ought to count in the grand scheme of things.

"Splendid. Now, do you swear not to tell a single soul under this roof about what I've just told you?"

Now it was Mairead's turn to let a sigh pass over her lips. "I swear."

What was she getting into? She might as well've helped Mr. Barrow with the black market business she'd overheard him talking about in the courtyard the other morning. It would probably be less risky than aiding in an elopement, not to mention that she wouldn't be putting herself in a dangerous position.

She pressed her lips together. Tom_ better appreciate whatever it is I suffer because of him._

"Do you need me to do anything?" She cringed just asking that question, because if Sybil asked, she couldn't refuse the lady, not without putting her job even more on the line than it was.

Sybil gave her head a quick shake. "Aside from keeping this to yourself, I don't think so," she said. "I'll send a telegram when we're safely away, but you're not to breathe a word of this to anyone."

"Understood m'lady." Mairead braced herself for Sybil's reproach, but thankfully, the other woman kept quiet. "I only hope you and Tom know what you're doing, and I hope you understand what it means for him if you're caught."

"Mairead, I understand full well what he's risking, and it's admirable to see the kind of devotion I've seen you display towards him in a woman your age," Sybil said. "If you are put on the spot because of this, I give you permission to say I made you cover for me, and you have no idea where we've gone."

"Where will you go m'lady?"

Sybil pursed her lips. "Gretna Green," she answered. "Mairead, may I ask a question?"

"I suppose you may, m'lady. The gong's going to ring any moment however, and-"

"And you're where you're supposed to be when it does," the lady interrupted. "Does anyone downstairs know you and Tom are cousins?"

"Why do y'ask m'lady?"

"I'm just curious, that's all, really."

Mairead took a deep breath. "No m'lady."

"Not even Mrs. Hughes? Anna?"

She shook her head. "Not even them, no."

"Oh."

"Will that be all, Sybil?"

The youngest Crawley sister hesitated, then nodded. "Yes, thank you," she said. "You've been a blessing, truly. Best of luck to you."

"Likewise, and godspeed, m'lady."

As she left Lady Sybil's room for what seemed like the last time, Mairead could only think of what would come of this, if anything, and she prayed that Tom truly knew what he was doing.

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**A/N: Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed~ **

**As you can see, Mairead has warmed up to Sybil a little more, and Sybil's trying to help with that process...too bad she's going to die in 1920, but maybe she and Mairead will have a friendship of sorts then. Who knows? **

**As usual, reviews make my world go 'round, and it helps me improve on my writing a whole ****lot, so those make me happy. Do feel free if there's any interactions you want to see, because I have a year to fill between Tom and Sybil getting married and Tom showing up after the whole Dublin thing, and it'll be interesting to explore Mairead and other upstairs folks/other downstairs folks for sure. Anna, Mr. Bates, Molesley, Carson, and Jimmy are definitely on the list for future chapters pre-Sybil's death, but if there's anything, let me know. **

**Thank you~**


	12. Falling Out

**A/N: So here's chapter twelve. **

**I hope you've enjoyed thus far, and your support is highly valued and I am very grateful for your feedback. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Downton Abbey_**

* * *

Tom returned from Gretna Green just as the staff was finishing breakfast, but he waited until most of them had had cleared out of the servants' hall to enter, his uniform jacket folded over his arm. He managed to pick out Mairead from the rest of the housemaids, and if he wasn't still reeling from last night's turn of events, he would've laughed (or at least cracked a smile) at the curl of hair that had apparently broken free from Mairead's tight bun. Instead, he watched as she rose from her place between Jane and Nellie, collected her breakfast dishes, and made her way to the kitchen.

"Mairead, a word?"

She paused, glancing across the few feet that stood between them with arched brows. "A quick one, sure," she said. Tom could see the impatient twitch in the corner of her lips as she waited for whatever he had to say.

"Alone," he clarified, glancing about the main hall, hoping she would pick up on the private nature of what he had to say. "Please."

She came closer, her plates still in hand. "I can't, I've got work t'do," she told him, holding the plates up for emphasis. "So d'you."

"I'll make it quick." There was no suppressing the sigh that preceeded his words. The silent hour and a half from here to Gretna Green had worn his patience thin, and keeping his thoughts from replaying last night in his head expended a considerable amount of energy, putting him in no mood to quarrel with his cousin.

"I've got to get these to Mrs. Patmore, and then there's the library to straighten up, then the bedrooms. Can't it wait?"

"I'd like it if we could get it over with," he said, shifting his weight and hoping that he didn't seem too frustrated with Mairead's stalling. He knew she was hoping Mr. Carson or Mrs. Hughes would come along and tell him to leave her be, and he knew he'd have no choice but to oblige, at least until after dinner.

"Well we can." She angled her body away from where he stood, still rooted in place, and made her way to the kitchen, calling "after luncheon," over her shoulder.

Oh no you don't, he thought as he followed her, going as quickly as he dared, for fear of angering the senior staff. There was no point in getting sidetracked because he'd collided with a hall boy or Mrs. O'Brien, and the Lord knew his frayed nerves might snap and ruin whatever chances he had at Lady Sybil if he did.

He followed her as deep into the kitchen as the sink (the part of him that had pointed out the stray curl earlier made a point of saying that Mrs. Patmore must've decided it wasn't worth the fight to forbid Mairead from coming any further than the cook's desk), and as soon as she'd set her dishes down, he caught her by the elbow, turning her to face him. "Now, Mairead," he said sternly.

His cousin made one attempt to shake him off, though he knew she would've made at least two more if they'd been on their own. "Let go, Tom," she protested. "I've got work t'see to, and no doubt you'll be needed soon enough, I'd imagine."

"It'll be there when we're done, I promise you," he assured her, gently tugging her away from the sink, hopefully towards somewhere where the two cousins could speak in private.

"Y'can't promise that." She dug her heels into the flagstone of the kitchen, reaching for the long worktable and using the corner for an anchor. "I told ya. We can talk after luncheon."

"It can't wait 'til then." He closed his eyes, trying to gather his patience, trying to keep his voice firm without making it seem as if he were lecturing her.

"It'll have to." She made a half-hearted attempt to free herself from him, but he only tightened his hold enough to let her know he was serious, that what he had to say couldn't wait. "Let go," she repeated through clenched teeth, her dark eyes flitting to hall over his shoulder.

Tom turned to see what'd caught he attention, and found himself face to face with Mrs. Hughes.

"May I ask what's going on?" The housekeeper's eyes widened as she came further into the kitchen, taking slow steps as if she were circling a crime scene. Her attention passed between Mairead and Tom, and her brows were drawn tight with thought. "I would like to know now, if you don't mind," she added.

Mairead met the older woman's gaze unflinchingly. "Mr. Branson's said he has news for me, but I asked him to wait until after luncheon," she said. "Mrs. Moorsum'll be waiting for me t'help with the library."

"I'm sure she can wait five more minutes," Mrs. Hughes said, offering Mairead a kind smile.

Tom couldn't help the smug grin that spread itself across his lips like a cat in the autumn sun. "Thank you Mrs. Hughes," he said. "I won't keep Mairead for long."

"You better not." She walked with them out to the corridor. "If you'd like privacy, I don't see why you can't use my sitting room. Just don't do anything foolish, understood?"

"Yes Mrs. Hughes," Mairead said.

"Good. I'll tell Jane that you're on your way then." And with that, the housekeeper left them to find their way to her sitting room on their own.

Tom led Mairead down the hall, still leading her by the elbow as if she were a recalcitrant child in need of yet another scolding. She didn't resist, nor did she utter a single word until they were separated from the main corridor by the door of Mrs. Hughes's sitting room. Even then, it was a while before she spoke, and she remained standing by the door with one hand on the doorknob, the other at her side.

"Did Lady Sybil change her mind?"

He furrowed his brows and shook his head. "No," he was quick to say, followed by: "How did you know we—"

"Eloped?" She folded her arms loosely across her chest and took a step away from the door. "She told me last night, before the gong rang for dinner."

"You must've thought it was crazy. The daughter of an earl eloping with a chauffeur, imagine that!"

"I did, yeah."

"And so you told Anna, didn't you?"

Her eyes widened, and she shook her head frantically. "I didn't, I swear."

"Then how did Lady Mary and Lady Edith find out?"

"Lady Sybil left a note on the mantle in her room. She figured someone'd unlock her door eventually, and she didn't want His Lordship to have a fit over it when he found out."

"Did he?"

"Hm?"

"Did he find out?"

She shook her head, her attention flitting to the floor, then to the small wooden hutch, where a clock rested, propping up a couple of worn books. "I don't think so, no," she said. "When he does, you'll pro'ly be dismissed."

"Then don't let him find out, not until Sybil and I announce it more formally."

"Lady Sybil."

"Excuse me?"

"You called her Sybil," Mairead observed. "Her proper address is Lady Sybil."

"She's Sybil to me," he replied. "You don't call my mother Mrs. Branson, do you?"

She shook her head. "No, but Aunt Susan is family, Tom. Quite different from our employer's daughter. Very different."

"She'll be family soon enough."

Mairead's jaw loosened, her lips curving into a surprised "o" shape. "You're joking. After what happened last night? Tom, His Lordship'll have you arrested."

"For what? Loving his daughter?" He pressed his lips together. "She's my Isibéal, Mairead, I wish you would just see that."

"It doesn't matter. Isibéal and Sam" - her voice wavered, and she paused to swallow- "Isibéal and Sam were different."

"They were two people who loved each other." He didn't make any move to comfort her, confident that she could hold herself together. "You remember everything that he did for her, don't you? I'd do the same for Sybil, don't doubt that."

"I don't." Her eyes shone brightly with the beginnings of tears, and she flicked away the tears before they could spill.

"Then why are you questioning me on this? You never questioned Sam, did you?"

Her eyes flashed. "How dare you bring Sam into this?" she demanded, her voice raised such that Tom was forced to wonder if Mrs. Hughes or any of the other staff had heard her.

"Because you claim you want to see the world change, but you don't do anything to change it. Sam did."

"And he paid for it." Her voice dropped back to its usual quiet politeness, but Tom could hear the sharp venom pooling beneath the surface. "So will you, if y'aren't careful."

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ease the dull headache he felt coming on. "You should be getting back to your work," he said, turning away from him. "We've both got long days ahead of us, and it wouldn't be good to have Mrs. Hughes think you don't do your work."

Mairead's hands curled into fists at her sides, but she gave him a tight nod. "You're right," she said stiffly. "I hope you know what you're doing, Tom, I really do."

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**A/N: Thank you for reading~**

**I know that was a bit of a long chapter, with a hell lot of dialogue and not much else, which I know can get on some people's nerves. I don't do it intentionally, I swear. It's just how the scene presents itself to me. **

**And that's how you can help.**

**Please review, let me know what worked and what didn't, what you want more of, etc. I'd love to hear, and your opinions are highly valued in this process~**

**Thank you~**


	13. Wisdom and Rumor

**A/N: Here is the much-anticipated, lucky chapter thirteen!  
**

**I don't think I have any important notes for this chapter, other than that I take some liberties with Jane Moorsum's character, because she's not as bad as some other housemaids who've had affairs under Downton's roof.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Downton Abbey, _and I'm doing a little playing with the timeline, just so that's there. **

**Enjoy~**

* * *

_What a bloody idiot, _Mairead thought as she hurried to join Mrs. Moorsum upstairs, her footfalls resonating in the stairwell as she made her way to the drawing room. She knew she'd forget her frustration the second she had something else to occupy herself with, besides playing her last encounter with Tom over and over in her head, which was likely to drive her mad if she thought about it much longer.

If Tom announced his and Sybil's relationship (Mairead refused to think of it as an engagement, a term that implied it was public knowledge, which it most certainly wasn't) to His Lordship and the rest of the Crawleys, Tom would almost certainly be dismissed, and Lady Sybil would be powerless to object. In all likelihood, it would be one of those things that was written off as a member of the staff seducing a member of the family, even if it was the other way around or none of those things altogether. The family would need someone to blame for the "corruption" of one of their own, and who better to blame than the chauffeur whose arrival made itself known in the opinions of the youngest Crawley sister?

It was all too perfect a setup, and Mairead knew Mr. Carson wouldn't comment on His Lordship's decision if it came to Tom's dismissal. She doubted the butler would even have any issue with ridding himself of Tom, regardless of the fact that Downton would be without a chauffeur until Mr. Carson could find a suitable replacement. Mr. Carson wanted Tom gone for reasons of his own, though why he cared about Tom's interest in politics was beyond Mairead- it wasn't as if it was disrupting things downstairs anymore than Thomas or Mr. Lang had (though Mr. Lang, Mairead would admit, had been a different story altogether).

"Mairead, are you alright?"

The young woman glanced up from the cabinet she'd been polishing to meet Mrs. Moorsum's blue eyes. "Yes, Mrs. Moorsum," she answered quickly before returning to her polishing.

"Are you sure?" The older woman watched Mairead work with the careful attention that Mairead knew belonged to a mother, even if her own mother had never shown that towards her. "You've been polishing that cabinet for at least five minutes now; it's a miracle you haven't worn the finish away. Is something bothering you?"

_Yes, something is, _Mairead thought, her cheeks flushing an angry red as she realized the truth in Mrs. Moorsum's statement. She had been at this for longer than necessary, hadn't she? _My cousin might lose his job- strike that, he _is _going to lose his job- and in turn, I am going to lose him. Oh, and he also tried to use my brother as a justification as to why I shouldn't question him in his choices, when I have every right to do so. _

Instead of voicing her thoughts, Mairead only shook her head. "Nothing's bothering me, Mrs. Moors-"

"Jane," the other housemaid corrected. "I know I'm a married woman, not to mention older than you by quite a bit, Mairead, but here we're equals, understand?"

"Yes...Jane." Mairead stopped running the polishing rag over the wood, lest she actually wear away the finish as Mrs. Moorsum predicted she might. "I'm sorry for coming up late like I did," she added, realizing that she'd neglected to apologize as soon as she'd joined her colleague in the drawing room.

"Don't worry about it. No doubt what Mr. Branson had to tell you was rather important, or else he could've waited until luncheon."

"That's what I told him, but no, it' couldn't wait 'til then, he said." She forced herself to move on to arranging the cushions on the settee, if only so that her hands had something to do.

"I'm sure he's glad to have told you, though, whatever it was," Mrs. Moorsum said, dusting the mantle with a rag of her own. "I won't ask what it was- that's between you and him."

_Thank you. _

"- I just hope that it's not what has you upset."

Mairead didn't bother to insist that she was alright (even if she very well wasn't), but instead she only gave the older woman a tight nod. "I'm just afraid he's going to do something foolish," she admitted, rearranging the cushions until that part of her brain what commented on the uneven distribution was satisfied.

Mrs. Moorsum stopped her dusting and turned her attention to Mairead, placing a hand on the younger woman's shoulder. "I won't admit that I'm fond of Mr. Branson-"

_Few people here are. No one is, in fact, just me, Lady Sybil, and Anna, though she doesn't count because she likes everyone. _

"- but I think he's a good man, when it comes down to it. Few are willing to stand behind beliefs like his, and I have no doubt that he knows what he's doing and is willing to take responsibility for whatever may result from that."

"Thank you," Mairead said, somewhat warmed by the older woman's words. "I just hope he knows _what_ he's doing."

"I'm sure he does. You shouldn't doubt him like that, it'll only make things worse between you."

A smile curled at the corners of Mairead's lips. "You're right, aren't you?"

"I suppose I am, after all, what would thirteen years of married life teach me besides not to doubt my partner?"

"Mr. Branson and I aren't...I'm not…We're not..." She felt her cheeks turn a violent shade of red as she tried to defend herself against what she could only have assumed would be Mrs. Moorsum's assumption.

"That's not what I meant, though are you two, you kno-"

"We have work to do," she managed to say, hoping to divert the topic away from her and Tom, who weren't sweethearts, no matter how hard Nellie and Mrs. Moorsum and Daisy wished. Mr. Carson would probably wish it too, if it kept Tom out of trouble. Hell, the entire staff would plan and execute the wedding if they got the chance. It was, if anything, a problem, a threat to Mairead's reputation downstairs, and the only solution seemed to be to let Tom announce his engagement to Sybil and leave Downton, perhaps forever.

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**A/N: So that's the end of Chapter Thirteen, also known as "The Chapter in Which We Decide That Mairead Needs to Make Some Actual Friends Before Tom Leaves Because Jane is Going to Leave Soon Too."**

**That was long, and yes, it was completely necessary.  
**

**It's just, Mairead needs to be a bit more social, and not hate on Anna so much, because what did Anna ever do to her (hint: nothing)**

**As usual, thank you for your support and I hope you enjoyed this puesdo-filler chapter~ **

**Reviews are welcome and they make my world go round. **

**Thank you**


	14. An Offer

**A/N: So here's the much-anticipated chapter fourteen! **

**So...um...I don't think there's any timeline things to note, other than Tom is gone by this point, married to Sybil and all that. So this is the beginning of Mairead's life getting interesting, I guess. **

**Disclaimer: Don't own _Downton Abbey_, but you knew that already, I bet. **

**Enjoy~**

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_April 1919_

Thomas waited until the rest of the staff cleared away and headed to their usual evening haunts before entering the servants' hall, where Jane was teaching Mairead a new stitch for repairing lace. He watched as the two maids worked side-by-side, Jane completing stitch after stitch without slowing her pace, while Mairead's lips were pressed tight as she practiced with the sleeve of a housemaid's black uniform dress, her needle stopping and starting like a faulty engine.

Neither woman seemed to notice the valet, and he made no effort to make his presence known, at least not yet. His goal didn't depend on whether or not he was noticed, as long as he was clever enough to play every advantage he had, should the need arise. Jane gave him a wide enough berth that he could easily get her to leave him be, and he trusted that Mairead would play her part well enough for him to beat her to the upper hand.

Jane noticed Thomas first, and he watched as she set aside her sewing and rose from the long table, making some whispered excuse to Mairead before making her way towards the kitchen. As the woman swept past Thomas, she fixed him with a warning glare, her usually soft eyes glinting like bluish steel in the electric light of the hall.

He rewarded her attempt at a challenge with enough attention to see her disappear down the hall and out of sight. _One less thing to worry about, _he thought as he turned his attention to Mairead, who was still practicing the stitch Jane had been showing her.

"It seems like you'd know how to do that already," he commented, leaving his post at the open threshold in favor of keeping this as private as possible. It wasn't ideal, the possibility that someone could walk in on them any second, but Thomas had waited long enough.

"Well then I'm glad Mrs. Moorsum offered to show me," she replied without so much as looking up from her work.

"Lucky, too, I'd imagine." He stood against the plaster wall, watching the housemaid for a reaction of some kind, anything to show him that he might be able to strike up some sort of alliance with her in the event that Mrs. O'Brien turned on him in favor of her nephew.

"Sorry?"

"I said it's lucky that you're learning now, before you get promoted to lady's maid and you have to mend Lady Edith's clothes. I imagine it'd be difficult to explain you never learned to fix lace."

"I don't think I'll ever be a lady's maid."

Thomas couldn't help but crack a smug grin. "Why not? I heard Mrs. Hughes mention how well you're coming along, helping Lady Sybil." That was a lie, of course, but he needed to test just how far her humility went, to see if it would be more worth his while to coerce her with promises of a higher position than what he had in mind. "I reckon she'd appoint you to Lady Mary instead of Anna, if you wanted."

The housemaid set down her work and finally acknowledged Thomas with hard, light brown eyes (if her eyes were blue, he would swear she was the chauffeur's sister) and a shake of her head. "I know it's a privilege t'ave that kind of opportunity, but if I'm to serve the Crawleys, I'd rather it be less direct."

His grin broadened by a hair.

She was giving him everything he wanted, and he liked what he was seeing, that was certain. She was one of those few who had ambition, but kept a tight lid on it, didn't let it become too obvious, and she didn't have any set loyalties (except to the chauffeur, but if the quarrel Thomas had heard coming from Mrs. Hughes's sitting room earlier was any indication, that loyalty would be shaky at best for a while) nor did she have any enemies. Her neutrality was the greatest advantage she would afford to him in a partnership like the one he and O'Brien once had.

Unfortunately, it seemed she would need a little…convincing, but Thomas was confident in his ability to bring her around. All it took were the right words, and never any unnecessary remarks. She seemed like the kind of person who wanted to cut straight to the chase, but knew better than to say so, and so Thomas would willingly oblige. All it would take were the right words and he'd have her, he knew it.

He came to sit across from her at the table, reaching into the breast pocket of his livery to retrieve a cigarette and a book of matches. "Is it because of what happened in Manchester?"

Color drained from Mairead's face, and Thomas saw the muscles of her jaw tighten as her eyes softened from steel to stone

"Nothing happened in Manchester," she said, her eyes dropping to her work, though her hands didn't move to complete it. "I don't know who told you anything, but nothing happened."

He lit the cigarette, but he didn't bring it to his lips quite yet. "A certain Elliot Grant would say differently," he told her, naming the footman from the Downing household who'd been treated at Downton during the war.

"What'd he say?"

"Only that you and your employer's son were-"

"He was lying. He didn't know anything, I swear. Nothing happened for him to know about in the first place." She shook her head and gripped the edge of the table. "Whatever he told you was nonsense."

He took a drag of the cigarette. "Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson wouldn't think so if they didn't know better." He exhaled, sending a loose cloud of smoke tumbling towards her.

She flinched away from the smoke, her nose wrinkling at the smell of tobacco. "Why would you tell them?"

"So I'm right? Something did happen? A soured affair with your employer's son was what it sounded like."

"Keep it down!" she hissed, her eyes flickering to the entryway.

"What've you got to keep me quiet?" he challenged, thrilled by her response. It was almost too easy, how she'd responded so well to his ploy. Even better that she couldn't be sure if he was bluffing or not. "All I have to do is make sure it reaches the right people-"

"You wouldn't dare."

"You might be surprised what I would and wouldn't dare. Remember that I've worked here for longer than you, and I can easily put in a word to get you sacked," he said.

"What do y'want from me?" Mairead asked, the edge from earlier giving way to a measured, defeated tone. She raised her eyes to meet Thomas's, reminding the valet of the one time he'd seen a mouse cornered by a cat. The wretched creature had given up hope, clearly outmatched by the tomcat that'd chased it to exhaustion, yet it kept staring bravely in the face of its demise.

"Oh nothing," he said with a grin. "Just to let you know you aren't as good at keeping your own secrets as you think. Hopefully you won't force my hand, because all it would take is one-"

"What. Do. You. Want."

There it was again, the edge in her voice, the valiant (yet hopelessly ineffective) attempts at discouraging him. It did anything but that; if anything, her determination urged Thomas onward, to see just how far he could push.

"I'll make you an offer, _Mairead,_" he said, letting her name fall into the space between them, hanging in the air with the smoke and dust that inevitably accumulated in the hall. Dust always accumulated in Downton, never seemed to stop, it seemed, but Thomas had learned to stop paying it any mind.

"You're making a threat, not an offer." she said bluntly, folding her arms across her chest and leaning forward on the table.

_Clever girl. _"Suppose I am," he said. "If that's how you'd like to think about it, be my guest."

She rolled her eyes. "Get on with it."

_Snappish, but not as vicious as O'Brien, and not as easily cowed as Baxter; I think I can live with that. _

"Be my eyes and ears upstairs and down, and your little scandal won't leave this room."

"If I refuse?"

He shrugged and let the cigarette rest on his lips, contemplating taking another drag before he decided against it and lowered his hand. "I might just slip up during a card game one night and you might find yourself packing your bags back to your industrialist lover."

"Will y'at least give me time to consider?"

_Because you've impressed me, sure. _"I'll give you a fortnight," he told her. "Deal?"

She nodded slowly, her shoulders rounding in and once more calling to mind the image of the mouse, this time before the cat snatched it up in its mouth. "Deal."

"I hope you'll make a good choice."

She only stared at him, her eyes filled with a dull flicker of resignation and her hands curled tightly in her lap. She would say yes, Thomas knew she would, but he also knew he had to hear it from her first, hear her admit defeat and agree to be his ally, otherwise it wouldn't be fair.

"Goodnight Ms. Hayes, you know where to find me if you make up your mind."

Mairead didn't say a word, and that was how he left her.

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**A/N: Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this bit. Things are getting moving, aren't they?**

**I wanted to bring up Baxter just because I could, if you were wondering about that. **

**As per usual, reviews mean the world, for this chapter especially so far, because Thomas is HARD to write, especially in this light. It's a good kind of hard though, like I had to stretch for it...Anyways, thank you for your support!**


	15. Hurt But Not Heartbroken

**A/N: Here's the next chapter! **

**Not much to say here, except I think I'm gonna give Anna some time.**

**Disclaimer: Same as always. I don't own _Downton_**

* * *

"You just missed him," Anna told Mairead as she settled at her usual spot at the servants' table, right between the head housemaid and Jane.

"Just missed who?" The corners of Mairead's lips turned downward and a small fold appeared between her drawn brows.

"Mr. Branson," the head housemaid clarified. "He left around luncheon with Lady Sybil. His Lordship gave them his blessing to get married, it seems." Anna wasn't sure what she expected; she'd seen how close Mairead and the former chauffeur seemed to be, which perhaps was why she didn't anticipate Mairead's simple "oh," and then silence.

"He said to tell you goodbye."

Mairead only nodded slowly, her eyes fixed on the whorls that riddled the table under her empty plate. "Anything else?"

"He didn't tell me anything else, no."

"Did he say where he was going? Leave a forwarding address? Anything?"

Anna shook her head. "I'm afraid he didn't, though Carson might have a forwarding address. You could ask him," she suggested.

"It's no use," Mairead muttered, shaking her head and blinking quickly, as if to dispel tears. If the girl was actually crying or about to cry, Anna couldn't tell from looking, though she heard Mairead's lilting voice break.

"Why do you say that?" Anna was reluctant to pry, but she knew part of her duty as head housemaid was to look after the well-being of the younger maids. "I'm sure you could get his address from Mr. Carson if you want to write."

"I'm sure he'd love to hear from you," Jane suggested, her voice gentle as she tucked a dark red curl behind Mairead's ear and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "You should write."

Mairead turned away from Jane's touch, her hand flying to pull the curl back over her ear before going to smooth the sleeve of her uniform. "He won't write back, not with a new job and a wife; he'll be too busy."

"So it's jealousy then?" Mrs. O'Brien asked, her brows arched and her lips pressed together.

An angry blush crept up Mairead's neck to her cheeks, and her ears turned a little pink as well. "No," she snapped, her jaw tightening.

"Why'd she be jealous of Lady Sybil? Mr. Branson isn't exactly what you'd call a catch," Thomas said, looking up from the letters that'd come for him in the afternoon post and offering a bemused smile to the three housemaids.

Under the valet's gaze, Mairead froze, her irritation shifting to fear for but a second before her light brown eyes shone like the cobblestones of the courtyard. "I never said I was jealous," she said, her voice carrying the same rumbling evenness that Mr. Bates's was at times.

"Thomas-"

"_Mr. Barrow, _Mrs. Bates."

Heat crept up Anna's cheeks, but she took a steadying breath, forcing herself to become calm. "Mr. Barrow," she said, her voice taking on an intensity of its own, "leave Mairead alone. If you were heartbroken, you'd want the same respect."

"If she's heartbroken, she better keep it to herself," Mrs. O'Brien said. "There's enough of that going around here as that is."

There was a rattle of wood and ceramics, followed by a dull thump as Mairead's knee got stuck under the table. An angry, whispered curse slipped from her mouth as she pulled her leg from under the table, clearly struggling to maintain an air of calm.

"Not so innocent, are we?" Thomas asked, casting her a sidelong glance as she left the table, heading for the hallway.

Mairead spun on her heel, and Anna's eyes went wide at the sight of the red cheeks and dangerously bright eyes that presented themselves on Mairead's face.

Never in her life had Anna seen anyone get this upset-not even Mr. Carson or Mrs. Hughes- nor had she ever seen it crossed with the fear that she could only assume Thomas's interjections were responsible for. The valet had done something to Mairead; that was the most likely explanation for her behavior towards him.

"I am not heartbroken," the young woman seethed. "I don't expect you to understand that, Mr. Barrow, but know that I am not jealous of Lady Sybil, nor do I have any feelings towards Mr. Branson. Not that would be your concern, anyways."

As Mairead left the servants' hall, her rage evident in each brisk step- Mairead never walked that quickly- Anna watched her retreat, her brows drawn together in concern.

"I'll go see if I can talk to her," Jane offered, standing as if to leave.

Anna shook her head. "Don't," she told the other woman. "Let her be alone for a while. She'll come around, I'm sure."

_And if she doesn't, I'll go talk with her after supper. _

Jane nodded. "If you think that's what's best."

"You let Mr. Branson go stew after the whole Strutt issue, and look how that ended up," O'Brien commented.

"You think Mairead'll run off with Mr. Matthew, then?" Anna asked, a slight smirk playing across her lips. She'd meant it as a jest, but it was clear that Thomas didn't think the same.

"I wouldn't put it past her."

All eyes turned to the valet.

"That's not very kind," Jane said.

"It don't have to be kind, Mrs. Moorsum," Thomas said. "Not when it's based on solid truth."

"That's it," Anna said flatly, standing and preparing to leave the table. "Tell Mr. Carson that Lady Mary needed me to do something for her urgently. I'll get something to eat later."

"Wouldn't you like to know what happened?"

"No, Thomas, I wouldn't. Not from you anyway."

"Have it your way then, just don't blame me when you hear the truth."

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**A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thank you so much for reading, and I can't wait to hear what y'all have to say.****So we might get to hear about Manchester and the Downings next chapter (read: much sooner than I anticipated)...**

**Also, to answer the earlier question of "will there be a romantic arc for Mairead?": MAYBE. **

**I make no promises.**

**And speaking of promises, an alternate title for this chapter is "In Which Thomas Cannot Be Trusted To Keep His Word Because He Likes To Freak People Out Sometimes."**

**Thank you~**


	16. Truth

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait, but end of term exams can be a bitch sometimes, not to mention this was a difficult chapter to write. **

**Alternate Chapter Title: In Which Mairead Decides That Maybe Telling the Truth is a Good Idea **

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Zero. Zilch. Nada. **

* * *

Mairead left the servants' hall and went straight to the courtyard, not caring that it was cold enough for her to see the small clouds of moisture that curled away from her lips like smoke and that she didn't have her coat on.

_There's worse things to be, _she thought as she found a stack of empty crates well out of sight of the back entrance where she could wait until Mr. Barrow's words didn't make her want to slap him (it wouldn't be very effective, but it was the best she could do without causing too much of a scene). _Unemployed is one of them._

The mere thought of losing her job at Downton caused dread to well in her chest. Losing her job here would mean having to go for God-knows-how-long without a job (that is, a respectable job), because there was no way she'd go back into the Downings' employ unless she was at her wit's end. She needed this job to help support Isibéal and her brother's children, just like she'd promised herself she would almost three years ago today.

_Has it been three years already?_ she thought, closing her eyes against the wind as it tore around the courtyard like a wave filling grooves in the sand, washing away an insignificant layer of the seashore. It felt like it was only yesterday that the telegram from Aunt Bridget arrived saying that Sam had been shot on his way to visit the O'Donovans and his wife, but no, it'd been just shy of three years ago. _Time does fly when you're busy, I suppose. _

Another thought came to the front of her mind: it'd been eleven days since Mr. Barrow had threatened to divulge Mairead's secret unless she agreed to be his spy. She had three days- less if the impatience in his voice was any indication- to make a choice about whether or not it was worth the risk to decline his offer.

The right thing to do would be for her to tell Mrs. Hughes what the valet was trying to get away with, but would that really help? It wouldn't change the fact that Mr. Barrow had information that he could use against her (never mind that it wasn't true in the first place, because it hardly mattered at this point), nor did it change the fact that he would use it against her. It was bad enough that he knew, or at least, that he thought he knew. He didn't know anything close to the truth, from what Mairead had heard him say, and she wondered if that was how she wanted it to stay.

"Mairead?"

Mairead's back straightened to attention at the sound of the head housemaid's voice, and she hurried to wipe away whatever tears had begun to pool in the corner of her eyes. She didn't dare to answer, even though she'd concluded long ago ("long ago" meaning roughly six months ago, so maybe not _that_ long ago) that Anna wasn't anyone to be suspicious of, and Mairead especially softened towards her because of how kind she'd been to Tom after his return from Gretna Green. There weren't many people like Anna in the world, and definitely not at Downton, and Mairead supposed it was something to be thankful for.

"There you are," the head housemaid said, coming to sit beside Mairead. "Are you alright? I don't know what's happening between you and Mr. Barrow, but if you ever need a friend-"

"I'm fine, I promise," Mairead interrupted, tilting her face away from Anna's curious blue eyes. "I just miss Tom- I mean Mr. Branson."

"It's alright," Anna said, covering up a soft laugh. "You two were very close, and I'd imagine you found it hard to call him Mr. Branson most of the time."

_Not when you've been calling your mam "Mrs. Hayes" for four years. _

"He's my cousin," Mairead blurted out, her voice reaching just above a whisper. There was no use hiding it anymore, not with Tom gone, and if she could trust anyone down here with that, it was Anna.

But why did she need to trust someone with it? It wasn't anything scandalous, like the information Mr. Barrow threatened to spill about Manchester, which would get her sacked, no questions asked. But Tom? What harm would being related to him do? If anything, it would stop the rumors that she was in love with him, and that would be a welcome relief, she supposed, and Mrs. Hughes couldn't dismiss her for being related to someone with opinions contrary to the majority.

"Excuse me?"

Mairead turned to face Anna, trying to become more comfortable with saying it out loud herself. "Mr. Branson's my cousin," she said again, her voice more steady this time. "I'm sorry I lied 'bout it for as long as I did, I really am, an' I don't know why I did, exactly. Thought it'd save me trouble." _Dear Lord, you sound like you did at your first confession. _

Anna put an arm around the younger woman's shoulder, as a mother or older sibling might to comfort a child. "I had a feeling there was more to that story," she told Mairead matter-of-factly, watching her with a careful attention that was somewhat foreign to the younger housemaid. "Are you going to tell the others?"

"I just told Lucy and Ethel and Alice, and they're all gone now, aren't they? I don't think anyone else would care much, even if I did." _Yet you lied anyways. _

"I see. And what was Mr. Barrow talking about with you and Mr. Matthew?"

"Well I don't fancy either of them, if that's what you're thinking," Mairead snapped, her hackles rising at the mention of the valet. "Whatever he says 'bout me isn't true anyways." _Because you've basically lied and kept to yourself for three years. If anything, they'll be able to make up what they want because there isn't any truth to you, is there now? _

"You're a wonderful young woman, Mairead, and I don't doubt you're telling the truth there. I know it's not my place, but I think it'd do you a great deal of good if you had someone you could talk to, even if you prefer to be on your own."

Mairead nodded. "Thank you Anna," she said, feeling the subtle weight of her deception lift, just like the vicar in at the village church said it did when you admitted to a lie or other sin. "I'm sorry I-"

Now it was Anna's turn to cut her off. "Don't be sorry. It's not much, but I forgive you, and remember, it could always be worse."

"I know."

"Sure you do." The head housemaid took Mairead's hands in hers and lept off the crate, pulling Mairead with her. "Now let's get inside, shall we? You'll freeze out here, and I'm sure Mr. Branson wouldn't want you to catch something."

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**A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and thank you for reading! As usual, please review (because I fear I might've gone a bit OOC with both Mairead and Anna at times). **

**Happy (late) Thanksgiving if you celebrate it, and if not, well...just happy Another Day of Living! **

**Thank you**


	17. An Answer

**A/N: I know it's been a while, but I do try very hard to have a life outside of my fan fiction (often reluctantly), and this chapter was hard to write...trust me. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Downton Abbey, _or else Mairead would be on the show, I can promise you that. **

"Time's up."

"Well that's good isn't it, because I have an answer."

A dark brow arched upwards and his smirk became a bit more apparent- exaggerated, almost, as if she were a creature of lower intelligence, such as a mouse (how was it he always thought of her as being a mouse?). "Do you now?"

"I'll do it." The boldness in her voice was forced, the same way his had been before he'd left for the front.

"Glad to see you have some sense to you. I look forward to working with you then."

"Likewise, I suppose." Her dark eyes betrayed what she was thinking, that she was a mouse in the jaws of a cat.

_Only you put yourself there, remember that,_ he thought. _Don't squirm too much and you'll be fine. I don't plan on letting go for quite some time._

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**A/N: Thank you for reading! I know this was very short and vague, but it works, I hope. The next chapter will be longer (much longer) starring Sybil and Branson and Mrs. Branson, so we get some S/T, I promise. **

**As usual, please read and review and thank you for your support!**


	18. The Wedding Pt 1

**A/N: As promised, a longer chapter! **

**I want to take the time to thank you all for supporting this fanfic, it means the world to me, it really does. I must confess to being very unsure about it all when I started, only because I've never seen any OCs in the Downton Abbey fandom as I have in other f****andoms (and because OCs are so hard to write well, even for someone such as myself, whose been writing them in some way/shape/form for my entire fan fiction career of 9+ years (we do not speak of anything written during the first seven years, that is the law)). Thank you all so much for following this ridiculously long story (it's nowhere near finished, we're hardly at the end of Season 2, much to my frustration) and enduring my attempts at being accurate in all fields y'all are the best and I love each and every one of you. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Downton Abbey_, though that would be ridiculously cool and awesome because, come on, it's _Downton freaking Abbey_. I also have no experience with the weather in just-outside-of-Dublin, Ireland in the early summer of 1919, nor do I have any experience with early summers in Europe in general, nor do I know what kind of birds inhabit Ireland at this time of year. This has been a PSA **

**Thank you and I hope you enjoy~**

* * *

June 1919

It was her wedding day, and oh, what a lovely day it was!

Outside, the robins and wrens and whatever other birds frequented the eaves of Mrs. Branson's cottage reflected the frantic excitement of Sybil's heartbeat in their quick, warbling song as they flew about. Only a few clouds dotted the sky, which was bright with the sunshine of a summer come early, and a timid breeze nudged them along in stops and starts, determined to let the sunlight through.

"There y'are," Mrs. Branson said, sliding the last hairpin into place against the nape of Sybil's neck and stepping back ever-so-slightly so her future daughter-in-law could admire her handiwork.

"It's lovely, thank you," Sybil breathed, running her fingertips over the intricate plaits and coils that her hair had been transformed into, careful not to be too forceful, lest she ruin Mrs. Branson's hard work.

I don't think Anna ever did my hair this way, she thought, and then she stopped.

In the months since moving to Dublin with Tom (two months, to be exact, though technically not until next Friday), Sybil had experienced a whole world of things that were different from her life at Downton, and she knew her astonishment, which was often childlike (according to Tom, though she knew he meant it in the best of all possible ways). Her astonishment betrayed the ignorance that she had grown up in, surrounded- protected- by Downton's ancient walls; the same ignorance she disliked in others, she found in herself, and she wanted nothing more than to be rid of it.

"You're very kind, Lady Sy-"

"Sybil," she was quick to correct as her mother corrected the improper grammar of Sybil's early childhood, kindly, and with only a little force, and most certainly without the exasperation of a mother chastising her son for bringing toads in from the pond, despite being told not to. "Just Sybil. I'm marrying your son, Mrs. Branson, I think it's beyond appropriate that you call me by my name as it is, not to mention I'll no longer be "Lady." I'll be "Mrs. Branson." Mrs. Tom Branson."

"I can see why he likes you," the older woman remarked as she placed a cream-colored shawl around Sybil's shoulders (there were still a couple hours before the wedding, and Sybil was still in her nightdress, having seen no point in soiling a dress she was only going to wear for two hours at most). "You're a lucky one, y'are, and so's my Tom, t'have found a lass like you. You're what this family needs, y'know- something good."

How does one respond to that?

"How? From what my parents told me, the two of us are quite the shock, and not in the best of ways."

"And that y'are, but with the war over, we've got a lot of things that are "quite the shock," so what's one more? It just takes some gettin' used to, for us as much as you, and then someday we'll all be sitting 'round the hearth and you'll be as much a Branson as Tom an' Kieran are, and there'll be no one t'tell you y'arent one of us, understood?" In the mirror, Sybil saw Mrs. Branson raise an eyebrow, reminding her very much of Granny, but younger and less…high-and-mighty, she supposed, than the Dowager Countess ever was (at least in Sybil's memory).

"That's my hope," came Sybil's bright reply. "I only hope my family would say the same. They're not what they seem to be, I swear to it, but Papa isn't one to let go of traditions, even to straighten his gloves."

"He has servants for that, I'd suspect," Mrs. Branson said, her eyes lighting up at her jest, which Sybil knew she made purely to be funny, and she agreed- it was amusing. "Pardon the jest, dear, I couldn't help m'self."

"Of course. You needn't apologize."

"I...We all hold on t'things- children, toys, spouses, God, mem'ries, traditions. It's human t'do that, I suppose, t'have an anchor of sorts. The war took a lot of those anchors from a lot of people, and you see what happened."

Sybil thought immediately of what her cousin Patrick's death had done to the family (more specifically her father, since Mary didn't seem bothered by it, at least not when Cousin Matthew showed up at their door), what the death of the young Lieutenant- the one Barrow had made good friends with, Courtenay, Sybil thought was his name- had done to her father's temporary valet, what the loss of William had done to all of Downton, and what the little hope of Mr. Bates's exoneration was doing to Anna every passing second.

"Yes I did," she answered, feeling all of a sudden rather solemn, as if the breezes had neglected to blow a cloud from in front of the sun, and had instead just left it sitting there. "I understand you...that Tom lost a cousin."

Mrs. Branson nodded solemnly. "Aye, he did," she said. "Though Sam didn't die in the war, not the one everyone thinks of, anyways. He was a sweet lad, he was. He, Kieran, and Tom would always play with his sister, or read her those Enlightenment thinkers. It's a shame she never became political, though perhaps it's a good thing she didn't."

"Why do you say that?" Sybil would never think that Mairead was unhappy at Downton, but if she really was as politically-minded as Mrs. Branson seemed to think she was, why didn't she take action and assert that interest? It was Mairead's business, Sybil decided, not someone else's, and with what happened to Sam, perhaps it was for the better after all.

"She's too much like her mam, in bad ways as well as good," Mrs. Branson told Sybil. "She told me once when she was little that she knew what she wanted to do with 'er life, and that was be a housekeeper like Alice, only she'd never marry."

"Housekeepers don't usually marry, isn't that right?" At least that's what Mrs. Hughes had told her- somewhat sadly, Sybil recalled, as if that had been her plan at some point in the Scottish woman's life.

"But Alice did, the silly lass, thought she could have babes too, and she did- four of 'em. The problem with that was they never knew their mother. She had them, weaned them, and left them with her husband's sister, not ten minutes south of here. Visited on Christmas if she could, though that was rare itself."

"What about her husband? Was he a butler?" Sybil thought of Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson, only married, which wasn't a strange thought for her. There was something between those two that made her think they wanted to be married, only there was something holding them back. An arrangement such as that would work, she supposed, if barely.

Mrs. Branson laughed and shook her head. "He worked as assistant to th'arbormaster in Blackrock, north of here, and died not long after Alice had her youngest in nineteen-oh-four."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Sybil said, her heart aching the slightest bit for Mairead. If what Mrs. Branson said was true (and Sybil had no doubt in the world that it was), Mairead had grown up without ever knowing her mother and surely not knowing her father, which was something Sybil couldn't even imagine. "It's no wonder she's so close with Tom, then."

"And a good thing, too. He helped bring her and her sister up with Sam, and now she's gone and wasted her life in service just like her mam."

"I wouldn't say wasted. She's been a great help to me and Tom, and I doubt we'd be getting married today if it weren't for her help."

"Well you can tell her that when y'see her, though I doubt she'll be coming. Her mam isn't, neither is Will, her brother, so I wouldn't put it past her t'miss out either."

There was a soft knock at the door, which was hanging slightly ajar, creaking back and forth in the quiet breezes. The knock was a sound Sybil recognized from her life at Downton, as well as the measured, lilting voice that followed.

"M'lady, may I come in?"

A knowing smile curled at the corner of Sybil's lips. "Of course," she said, containing her excitement as not to seem too surprised. "Come in."

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**A/N: So that's the end of this chapter. I hope you enjoyed and thank you for reading! As usual, reviews are more than welcome, tell me what I'm doing wrong, what I'm doing right, what you think is going to happen next, etc. It all means very much to me, to know what you're thinking as you're reading. **

**There is going to be more wedding-fluff-drama in the coming chapters simply because I say so and because I need some Tom/Sybil love. There is a slight chance that a majority of the Branson clan will be at the wedding, plus the two Crawley sisters and a certain Mrs. Bates. **

**Thank you :) **


	19. Aunt Moira

**A/N: So here's a little more pre-wedding, mostly because I wanted to get Mairead in with her aunt and Sybil for at least a scene...**

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Downton Abbey, _nor do I actually know any Irish Gaelic. I owe that to Google translate. **

***my little mouse**

* * *

The door swung open, and Mairead squeezed through, closing it with a firm hand on the doorknob as to keep from making any noise. "Good morning Aunt Moira, Lady Sybil," she said with a polite nod to each of them.

Sybil rose from her chair and went to embrace Mairead for what she realized had to be the first time, breaking away after a second or two so she didn't make the other uncomfortable. "It's so good to see you." She took Mairead by the hand and brought her further into the room, ignoring the perplexed glance she was being given by Mrs. Branson when she didn't correct Mairead's address.

It felt strange to run and embrace someone when you only knew them within the strict rules that governed the relationships of servants with their employers, but the world those rules belonged to was behind Sybil now. This wasn't Downton, and Sybil wasn't a lady (not in the sense of titles, anyway), and Mairead wasn't a housemaid. Both she and Mairead were people of equal standing here, not to mention that within a few hours, they would be family.

"And good t'see you too," Mairead said, reaching behind her ear to adjust a hairpin before dropping both hands at her sides.

She was wearing her hair down, Sybil realized, marvelling at the length that she was so used to seeing condensed into a stern knot and held back from with hairpins. It wasn't as long as hers, but still, it was a sight to behold, that was for sure, and Sybil envied the way the ends were curled .

"I'm surprised you came at all," Mrs. Branson commented, taking in her niece's appearance with narrowed eyes. "Should I expect your mam and brother too?"

"Just me, Aunt Moira," came Mairead's even reply. "Mrs. Hayes is busy, and-"

"I thought you were too."

"Yes, I am, but Mrs. Hayes's a housekeeper, I'm not. It's different."

Sybil felt a sudden charge fill the room, originating, so it would seem, between Mairead and her aunt. She'd gathered from her conversation earlier that there was no love lost between Mairead's mother and Mrs. Branson, but the way Tom's mother was treating Mairead (who, in Sybil's understanding, had done nothing wrong but resemble her mother too much for Mrs. Branson's liking) wasn't how family members should treat each other.

"My family isn't coming either, at least not my parents," she said, hoping to mitigate the conflict that would inevitably ruin the light mood of the morning. "Just my sisters, Mary and Edith."

"That's hardly an excuse for you t'have your hair down like that," Mrs. Branson said, crossing her arms across her chest and pressing her lips together into a disappointed smirk. "Did you dress their ladyships looking like that?"

_Poor Mairead, _Sybil thought, trying to think of a way to get her mother-in-law to forget whatever quarrel she had with Mairead.

She found herself thinking of Susan Flintshire, her cousin Rose's mother, though the Marquess was by far more spiteful, and at least Mrs. Branson seemed well-intentioned (no doubt Cousin Susan was too, by her rationalizations, if not by the outward appearance of things) and more restrained. Cousin Susan would just speak whatever nasty thought came into her head, regardless of who was there to hear, while Mrs. Branson was picking her words carefully, and Sybil could see she was attacking Mairead's mother more than Mairead herself, a tactic Susan never attempted.

"Mrs. Branson, Mairead, I don't see why there's the need for you two to quarrel. Shouldn't we be glad that she came?"

Mairead cast Sybil a small, appreciative smile, as if to say "thank you" for her interference.

Mrs. Branson's expression loosened, and color rose in her cheeks when she realized that she'd just had it out with her niece in front of her daughter-in-law (_You did the right thing, _Sybil thought, realizing she'd just taken advantage of her former rank, something she swore she wouldn't do), and she gestured for Mairead to sit in the chair at the dresser.

"Come here, _mo luiche beag_*," she ordered, reaching to take Mairead by the wrist when the young woman didn't obey. "Lovely as you are, that's no way to wear your hair, now is it?"

Mairead let herself be settled in the wicker chair that just a few moments ago had been occupied by Sybil, her head held still as Mrs. Branson combed her fingers through the younger woman's hair. "No, Aunt Moira," she answered, pressing her lips together as a lock of her hair was tugged into a braid. "And I' sorry I didn't come to Sam's funeral, I honestly am, but I couldn't get away from work."

"I'm sure you were, dear. I jus'suppose it was because Sam was so dear t'you that I got upset like I did...same goes for Tom, though I reckon he had the same predicament, as well as his lovely Sybil to chase after."

Sybil felt herself blush. "Thank you," she found herself saying as she watched Mrs. Branson gather Mairead's hair into a twist of braids not that different from the one Sybil wore.

Mrs. Branson finished and patted Mairead's shoulder. "There y'are dear," she said, stepping back. "Who knows? Y'might meet your future husband today, you're so lovely, though Grace Walsh's boy still seems as taken with you as he was last time you came."

"Oh Lord," Mairead muttered, her cheeks flushing red, more red than Sybil had ever seen them. "I can't take the ferry home, can I?"

"Don't be so dramatic. He's a nice boy, and y'might like how he turned out...better than the Crosses' boys, that's sure. Y'don't have t'sit next to him in church, if that helps."

"I suppose…" Mairead rolled her eyes. "We ought t'get Sybil dressed, don't y'think? We've wasted 'nough time as it is, and Tom might have a heart attack if she's late."

"That's what your mam'd say, and she prob'ly did, at some point...She beat your father t'chapel by a bloody hour, and won't let him forget it."

"You sayin' I'll do the same?"

"I'm not sayin' you won't, now am I?" Mrs. Branson grinned. "Now let's see to Lady Sybil. It's her day, not yours. Not yours for a long, long time."

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**A/N: So that's the end of this chapter. Next one is the wedding, where we get to meet members of Mairead's extended family, as well as Grace Walsh's boy...I hope you enjoyed this chapter and please leave the constructive criticism that I so desperately need as well as any general reviews or things you'd like to see in Mairead's future. **

**Thank you~ **


	20. The Wedding Pt 2

**A/N: So here we are at last- Tom and Sybil's wedding (ft. my English teacher from last year on organ)!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Downton Abbey_**

**Disclaimer Pt. 2: I am not, nor do I pretend to be, Catholic. I do not know how wedding ceremonies are done either, and I just skim a little to get to the good parts. **

**On with the show!**

* * *

As far as weddings went, Tom and Sybil's was a small one, definitely smaller than the society weddings of London, but still bigger than a farmer's wedding would be.

It was held in the same church where Tom had been baptised, received his First Communion, and been confirmed, all milestones that were years behind him now, and mostly gone from his memory, but that hardly mattered. Those days had been important, that much was true, but none of them would stay with him forever in the way that his and Sybil's wedding would, because there was none of the joy, none of the triumph, in his First Communion or confirmation that he felt welling in his chest now, as he waited at the altar for his bride-to-be.

His mother sat in the first row of pews, with Mairead on one side and Tom's father on the other. She held herself with the same poise as the Dowager Countess, as if she was more than the daughter of a tailor, but a queen, perhaps. Her ashen hair was tucked up beneath a smart hat, and her attention was fixated on her son, reassuring as well as nerve-wracking.

She'd given Tom plenty of difficulty when he expressed his desire to marry Sybil, questioning his judgement and warning him against the idea. She had even been unkind towards Sybil upon their first meeting, but Tom knew his mother to be like that towards everyone until she got a proper sense of them. He also knew that she wanted nothing but her sons' happiness, and, like most mothers, she would likely move Heaven and Earth to see either of them with a woman they loved.

And now, as they waited for the various family members and family friends to settle down, as well as for the organist to arrive (it was still Mr. Levy, who'd been old since Tom was a child, and by some miracle, the man hadn't dropped dead yet and was still playing organ in church), Tom couldn't help but feel that his mother daring him to second-guess himself and call off the wedding. He couldn't imagine why she would want such a thing, and he knew he would never forgive himself if he did (which he certainly wouldn't do).

How could he even think of doing such a thing to Sybil? Sybil, who he would move mountains for, who he would hike through the deepest pits of Hell if she asked him to. He wouldn't even _dream_ of deserting her at the altar, or deserting her at all, for that matter.

His brother Kieran stood behind him, hands clasped loosely behind his back as he chatted amiably with Isibéal, who looked to be in good spirits despite the hardship of the past few years.

Tom could still see a trace of sadness in her delicate features, and he knew she must be thinking of Sam, and the Lord knew he was thinking of his cousin as well. It should've been Sam playing the role of best man today, just as Tom had at his wedding to Isibéal— that was what they'd always planned. What they never planned on, of course, was Sam's death, and Tom knew he should know better than to think his generation was exempt from young death.

_Cheer up, _he thought, shifting his weight from foot to foot nervously. _Today's your wedding. You're marrying the woman of your dreams, and there's no reason to spoil that, now is there? Sam would want you to be happy, with or without him, so don't let him down. _

At long last, the final member of the congregation settled into place, and Mr. Levy took his place at the organ bench, a young woman who must've been his granddaughter beside him in her own chair. The old man began to play the processional, and Tom felt his nerves settle at the familiar music. This was it. He was about to be married. Before he knew it, the wedding march was being played, and he heard the sound of bodies turning in the ancient pews to watch the bride make her way down the aisle.

_God in Heaven, _thought Tom as he watched Lady Mary and Lady Edith escort their sister towards him.

The older Crawley girls were beautiful, there was no doubt of that, but it was in a different sense than Sybil's beauty. They were elegant like the halls of Downton were, an old beauty that was hard to maintain and passed down like the titles of the peerage, but Sybil…oh, where did he begin with Sybil?

Sybil's beauty was the simple elegance of wildflowers and the first robin of spring. She was so fresh and youthful, beautiful not only in her body, but in her spirit. Tom would more than gladly bet his year's wages that there wasn't a kinder soul on this Earth than his Sybil, who appeared before him now as a vision in a white dress he recognized as his mother's from the long-ago evenings when she would show him and Kieran the dress she'd made with her sister's help for her wedding. As old as it was, it didn't seem out of place on Sybil, and when he glanced away from her to see his mother's reaction, he saw nothing but pride on the woman's face.

_We'll make a Branson of you yet, _he could hear his mother say, and he smiled at this thought.

He wouldn't change Sybil for the world, that ought to have gone without saying. If she was English, then so be it. There wasn't any law against the English and Irish intermarrying, was there?

It wasn't long until Sybil arrived at the altar, and Tom wished the priest would skip to the part where he could kiss her as his bride. Why did there have to be so many words between them? It was the one thing he disliked about religion, that it was delaying the moment when his family and Sybil's sisters could finally bear witness to his love.

"Do you, Tom Patrick Branson, take Sybil Cora Crawley to be your lawfully wedded wi—"

"I do," Tom said, his cheeks reddening when he realized that the priest hadn't even finished his question.

The priest— Father Francis, Tom remembered his name being— gave a quiet, indignant "hmphf" before proceeding. "And do you, Sybil Cora Crawley, take Tom Patrick Branson to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

Sybil gave Tom a pointed look, as if to say _This is how it's done, silly, _drew a breath— the gradual swell of her chest was enough to catch Tom's attention, and his cheeks probably turned a brighter red. "I do," she answered, and Tom could see the eagerness in her eyes, accompanied by joy and ardor.

"You may now kiss the bride."

Tom didn't wait, and neither did Sybil.

He pulled her into his embrace and kissed her, letting the seconds lengthen around them- he didn't care. Sybil was the love of his life, and now she was his wife, she was his and he was hers, as it should be. Never mind that he could see Lady Mary and Lady Edith looking nothing short of scandalized over Sybil's shoulder- he closed his eyes and they were gone, it was just him and Sybil.

She was all he needed, all he would ever need.

He felt Sybil laugh, the quick vibration of air and the squeeze-and-release of her chest against his, and pulled away, realizing that perhaps he had overstepped the line he'd so carefully toed (and perhaps taken a small step over) in interrupting Father Francis earlier. He hoped he hadn't brought any kind of bad luck to their marriage in doing that, because surely God would understand what it was to love a woman as much as he loved Sybil.

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**A/N: Thank you for reading this chapter and I hope you enjoyed it!**

**For those of you wondering where I got Tom's middle name from, I just pulled it out of more-or-less thin air. It's my little baby cousin's middle name, ****actually, and then Father Francis the the name of a priest who is a close friend of my father's, and then St. Francis is my little baby cousin's patron saint so a little homage to that there... Mr. Levy is actually the name of my English teacher from last year, but he doesn't play the organ...I just thought I'd give him a little cameo here because he was an amazing English teacher.**

**As always, reviews are appreciated and ****encouraged. **


	21. Promises, Promises

**A/N: So here's chapter twenty-one. **

**There isn't much to say, other than thank you for your continued support! This would not be possible with readers such as yourselves and I am very glad that you guys are enjoying it. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Downton Abbey_**

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It had been a good idea to come, Mairead decided as she exited the church, moving at her usual brisk pace so Kieran couldn't make good on his good-natured threat to make her walk back to Aunt Moira's home if she didn't hurry up.

She paused to shake hands with Father Francis (a necessary formality) and say hello to Mr. Levy (_How on Earth is that man still alive?_ she thought as she greeted him and his granddaughter before hurrying on her way. _He's been old since I was little...He's got to be at least ninety-five._), and then broke into a sprint. In her experience, Kieran had never left her behind, but that wasn't exactly a risk she was willing to take, not with a fair walking distance between the church and Aunt Moira's. Besides, she had volunteered to help lay the table outside for the small lunch that was to follow, and it wouldn't do to be doing that as the other guests were arriving.

It was to be a small lunch, Tom and Sybil, of course, Tom's parents and siblings, Mairead, Isibéal, Isibéal's children, Lady Mary and Lady Edith, and a couple of the Bransons' friends from the village. There was nothing to worry about as far as planning, the menu having been outlined and all the necessary foodstuffs procured as far in advance as necessary, everyone's date-books marked for at least two hours after the wedding as belonging to the new Mr. and Mrs. Branson. The only anxiety, it seemed, would be the presence of Sybil's sisters and the effect it might have on the atmosphere of the meal, but at worst, the aristocrats' being there would only cause a few minutes too long of awkwardness amongst them.

"Well come on, 'fore I decide t'leave you," Kieran teased, opening the passenger door so Mairead could climb in.

"You'd never leave me," came Mairead's reply, and she flashed him an impish grin, the kind befitting a nine-year-old, not a nineteen-year-old. "Never 'ave, I don't think."

"That's 'cause you're your mam's daughter, that's why," he said, glancing over at her before starting the motor and turning his attention to the road.

"Surprisingly," she muttered, unable to do anything but wonder why this seemed the explanation for everything.

"Y'look like 'er enough, I'm surprised you haven't been called by her name once or twice, and you've got the same way of goin' 'bout things, all strict and proper."

Mairead couldn't help but laugh. "I can't be strict when I haven't anyone t'be strict to, or nothing t'be strict 'bout, now can I?" Propriety she wouldn't question, as she always took care to be on her best behavior, to follow every rule and pay respect where respect was due, no matter what.

Kieran remained silent as they rounded a tight bend in the road, his lips pressed so tightly together in concentration that his moustache brushed the bottom of his lower lip, and he leaned forward in his seat, like a jockey about to start a race. "Not yet, though Tommy told me you gave him quite the talkin' to when he 'loped with Sybil," he said as the road straightened out. "That true?"

She shook her head. "He was exaggerating. I just told him it wasn't smart, that he should know better than t'think they'd get anywhere far before someone found out."

"By your sayin' that I'd wager they were found out?" Kieran shook his head and laughed. "Love makes fools of us all, I s'pose. Promise me y'won't do anything foolish like that when you finally find someone who'll marry a lass like yourself, alright?"

"I promise, Kieran."

"And don't change when you're married either, not like the girl did in that one play Sam used to read you, one of Shakespeare's. _The Taming of the Something-or-Other._"

"_The Taming of the Shrew_?"

His eyes lit up. "Yeah, that's the one. Knew it was some sort of rodent." He broke his concentration on the road, slowing the car to an ambling pace, and looked Mairead in the eyes, his features set in a look of complete sincerity. "I'm serious, Mairead. Don't change for love, even if it's t'please that grouch, Mr. Walsh, or someone like that Lord Grantham, though Lord Stiff Collar's more like it, or Lord—"

"I promise Kieran, don't worry. I don't see marriage anywhere in the future as it is," she said, cutting her cousin off before he could give Lord Grantham anymore unsavory epithets.

As indifferent as she was to the feelings of her employer, Mairead didn't want her cousin thinking she disliked the earl enough to remain silent. His Lordship wasn't a bad person, but it was the idea of his class, the aristocrats who didn't have to work a moment of their life, who made their living sitting in a warm study and drinking expensive French wines, being corrupt from top to bottom that what stirred Kieran's dislike, and Mairead knew it would be difficult to bring him to see that Lord Grantham was actually a fair, intelligent man. The aristocrats would never be the paragons they were thought to be, because they were human, capable of sin just as much as their servants and tenants were.

"A'least promise me you'll marry 'fore either Tom or I die," he said, turning his attention back on the road.

"All these promises you want me t'make! Why?"

"Well, you're a lovely young lass, Mairead. You could pro'ly marry a man of Miss Sybil's stock- you're intelligent and pretty enough to pass for one of them- could maybe even do better than Tommy did, but don't let me pressure you into it. You marry who y'want, maybe settle down, have a child or two. Don't do like your mam and fly off like that."

"Must it always come back to my mam?" Mairead asked, exasperated by the sudden return to the topic. "I'm not as foolish as she was, thinking she could balance children and work a'the same time."

"Which is why y'won't do that. Promise me that much, for your ol' cousin Kieran?"

_Damn you, _Mairead thought, catching sight of Aunt Moira's cottage only a few meters down the road. "Fine. I promise. I won't do what Mam did...I think Aunt Moira would try an' throttle me if I did, take m'babes from me too."

"And you say Tommy exaggerates," Kieran scoffed as they pulled into the shed that was currently passing as the garage. "Now off with ya. I'd like to see what your work in those fancy houses has taught you 'bout laying a table. Horace Walsh and I have got a bet going, but I won't tell ya where my money is, jus' t'be fair."

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**A/N: Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!**

**I definitely plan to spend some more time covering the details of the wedding and the after party and those things, and ****next chapter we're going to meet a certain gentleman, as well as Mairead's sister-in-law and her children. **

**Please review as you are able, so I can know what you like and what you don't and things like that because that makes this a learning experience for me, and I want nothing more than to get better at writing these.**

**Thank you!**


	22. The Wedding Dinner

**A/N: Here's Chapter 22! Continued wedding shenanigans, and, at long last, we meet Grace Walsh's boy. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Downton Abbey_**

**Disclaimer Pt. 2: This chapter's Irish is brought to you by the Internets**

***All the world would not make a racehorse from an ass.**

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The dinner went more smoothly than Mairead had anticipated, without too many moments of awkwardness between the Crawley sisters and the Bransons, and only a few too-political comments, most of which came from the young man sitting across from Mairead— James Walsh.

She'd known James since they'd been children, and though he was one or two years older than she and therefore closer in age to Will, he had always preferred Mairead to her brother. They hadn't seen each other in years— she'd been in England for six years, and he'd been working as a clerk in Dublin Castle since part way through the war, she thought she heard him mention— but somehow they still managed to speak familiarly with each other. He caught her up on everything she'd "missed out on" (according to him) during her time away, from who of their friends were married and to whom, to who was working where, especially now that the war was over and everyone was returned home.

She listened to him speak, hiding her disinterest behind a polite smile, nodding every now and then to assure James that she was still paying attention. She really couldn't care less that Rachel Kelly (did Mairead even know a Rachel Kelly?) was married to some important lawyer and now lived in Dublin, or that one of his colleagues at Dublin Castle had married a girl from Bray, but she listened nonetheless, wishing he would talk about something more interesting before she went mad.

"They're hiring secretaries at the Castle now, if you're looking to leave service anytime soon," James said, taking a break from the seemingly endless list of newlyweds that had sprung up in his social circles over the past few years (_I wonder if he keeps a ledger of them all, _Mairead thought, smiling at the thought). "The hours are less demanding, that's for certain, and you'd be closer to your family."

She raised her brows. "Didn't I tell you that I'm stayin' in service for as'long as I'm able?" she asked. That hadn't been necessarily what she'd said, but it was more or less her plan for the future.

"And I'm not saying that's a bad thing, but, Mairead, think about it! It pays well, and I can tell you, there is much more satisfaction to it than working in the house of an earl."

"At least I'm not stuck behind a desk all day," came her answer. "At least I can be properly useful on my feet at Downton."

"But what do they accomplish at Downton?" James's words had drawn the attention of Lady Mary and Lady Edith, who glanced his way out of the corners of their dark eyes, but said nothing, part of a different conversation at their end of the table. "Surely nothing as important as what's done at Dublin Castle. Have they passed any legislations there? Put down any risings?"

"You say that as if you're proud," she said, feigning nonchalance. Oh, how much she was keeping hidden from him! She wondered if he'd picked up on it at all, or was he so caught up with making a show of offering her a job at Dublin Castle (was he even in a position to do such a thing?) that he didn't bother to think?

"The men who died were traitors to their country, allies of the Germans'. We did what anyone under fire would do- we defended ourselves- and you can hardly blame us for doing the right thing."

Mairead clenched her jaw, trying to contain the anger she felt simmering in her chest. _Whatever you do, don't make a scene, especially not with Lady Mary and Lady Edith present, _she told herself, her hands curling into fists in her lap. "They weren't traitors, at least not to their country. To England maybe, but not Ireland."

"Which happens to be part of England, as chance would have it." He was watching her with curiosity now, his meal forgotten, his dark, greenish eyes reflecting Mairead's feigned nonchalance back at her. His voice was even, but in the way that Mr. Barrow's was, with the promise of a threat lurking beneath it, waiting for one misstep to leap out and entrap her.

"It shouldn't be."

"Then what do you suggest? That it be left to govern itself?" He laughed. "You might's'well let women make the laws."

"James," Kieran said, his voice carrying enough of a warning tone that he didn't need to say anything more.

The table fell silent, and all the conversations slowed to a stop as everyone's attention went to James and Mairead. The only sound was the soft _clunk_ of someone shifting in their seat, followed by a rustle of fabric. That's how quiet it was, that despite the occasional brush of wind through the leaves and the birds whistling "good evening" to each other, the sound of silk brushing against itself was barely perceptible.

James was either exceptionally bold, or exceptionally drunk (Mairead hoped he was drunk, that way she could discount what he'd said and maybe they could be friends still) to respond to Kieran's warning with a skeptical look.

"What?" he asked, looking at the faces of everyone at the table. "I'm entitled t'my opinion, aren't I?"

Silence.

"James Walsh, you know how I feel about politics at my table," Aunt Moira said from beside Sybil. "But I'm going t'assume you've had too much t'drink so my son can enjoy the rest of the evening. Not going t'let the likes of you cast a shadow on a day like this."

"The likes of me." He let those words hang in the air, as if he were tasting them and assessing their composition. "I'm not a bad man, Mrs. Branson, y'know that. I fought in the war, defended women like your niece and sister-in-law, made sure that damned Easter Rising was put down, everyone involved either executed or imprisoned."

"_Ní dhéanfach an saol capall rás d'asal,*_" Aunt Moira said, earning muffled laughter from Kieran and her husband, and confused glances from Sybil, her sisters, and Isibéal's children.

James, clearly ruffled by the woman's words, continued: "Y'know what some of them say up at the Castle, don't you?'

"Do you think I care, James Walsh, what they say up there? I bet it's a load of nonsense that isn't fit for your friend's wedding dinner, so kindly be quiet, or, better yet, leave."

_Yes, please leave, _Mairead thought, her attention quietly turning to Isibéal, who looked on the verge of tears. _Please leave and spare us all the trouble your company will cause. _

"They're saying Sam Hayes was involved in the Rising. Now, I know he died not far from where the fighting started, but, knowing Sammy-"

That did it.

Mairead heard Isibéal begin to sob, and almost immediately wrapped her arm around the older woman's shoulder and pulled her close. "Shhh," she whispered, looking to Aunt Moira for permission to excuse herself and help Isibéal calm down.

The older woman nodded, her lips pressed into a tight, unforgiving line that Mairead knew was meant for James. _I'll take care of him, _she seemed to be saying (she didn't dare speak, Mairead knew, because of the Crawley sisters, who no doubt were rethinking allowing Sybil to marry Tom). _You go_.

She returned the nod and helped Isibéal to her feet, her arm still protectively placed around her sister-in-law's shoulder. "Please excuse us," she said, fixing James with a hard, cold stare that she hoped he would remember every time he thought about her. "But we ought to start clearing things up."

"Do you need a hand?" Sybil asked, rising from her place, her napkin already folded neatly and set above her plate. Her sisters fixed her with questioning glances, Lady Mary's perhaps more stern than Lady Edith's (poor Lady Edith looked beyond perplexed, as if she was watching a play in Russian), but Sybil didn't seemed to be ruffled by it at all.

"M'la-" Mairead stopped herself, took a breath, and tried again. "We can manage the two of us, and it's your wedding day, you needn't worry yourself with clearing up."

Sybil pursed her lips and raised her chin in what Mairead thought was childish defiance before leaving the table and heading back into the house.

_So much for "going smoothly," _Mairead thought as she stacked Isibéal's plate atop hers and took them in one hand, using the other to guide her sister-in-law away from James and his smug expression. She had half the mind to shout back at him and curse him and his children for what he'd said about her brother, but her attempt to get the last word in would only do more than the damage they'd already done.

Right now, her job was to help Isibéal recover from his vindictive remarks, then she would have to wait until Lady Mary and Lady Edith had returned to their hotel in Dublin so she could give James a piece of her mind, though she hoped he would just leave, and spare her the trouble.

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**A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and thank you for reading! Reviews and criticism welcome as always~ **


	23. Conversations

**A/N: Now for some bonding time between the women. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Downton Abbey._**

**Enjoy!**

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None of them spoke as they made their way back to the cottage, a distance that wasn't far (certainly no farther than the walk from the tradesmen's entrance to the garage back home, Sybil estimated), but the silence seemed to lengthen the walk. Mairead took the lead, with one arm wrapped behind Isibéal's back and the other on her sister-in-law's arm, guiding her away from the dinner as if she were blind. Sybil took up the rear, forced to take long strides if she was to keep up with the other two, and she tried her hardest not to stumble on the uneven path.

When they reached their destination, she hung back as Mairead helped Isibéal to a chair, pausing only a moment to whisper something to the other woman before going to set a kettle on for tea, leaving Sybil alone with Isibéal in the small sitting room.

After a few moments of uncertain silence, Isibéal met Sybil's gaze, her dark hazel eyes red from crying. "I'm sorry," she said, wiping at her eyes with a handkerchief. "I really should be over…what happened. It's been three years now, I shouldn't be—"

"Nonsense," Sybil interjected, pulling her chair closer to the other woman and reaching to take her hands. "If it's anyone's fault, it's James Walsh's. He shouldn't have said those horrible things about Sam."

"He used to be such a nice boy, I don't see what happened to that."

"Perhaps it was the war," Sybil suggested. "The war changed a lot of people, and didn't he say he'd served?"

"Not in the trenches, he didn't," Isibéal scoffed. "Though to him, I suppose the war offices were much the same."

Sybil thought of the officers she'd treated during the war, such as Edward Courtenay and poor, sweet William Mason, as well as those who she'd met and worked alongside at Downton, or, more specifically, Thomas Barrow and Matthew. Their injuries spoke more than Sybil wanted to know of the horrors that they encountered at the Somme or Amiens, or any of the other battlefields in France. She thought also of Mr. Bates's replacement, Mr. Lang, who clearly suffered from shell shock, and would likely have difficulties in the future with finding a job that his frequent attacks wouldn't affect.

The work she'd done during the war had changed her, yes, but it hadn't been as dramatic as those who had actually fought. The "traumas" she'd experienced as a nurse— supplies running low, sudden turns for the worst just as a patient's condition was improving, things like that— were picayune compared to the missing limbs, gas blindness, and deaths of the hundreds of soldiers that had passed through her care, never mind the millions who never reached a hospital or even a medic's tent. Try as she might, she would never be able to correct the damage done by the war; she could only do her best to ease the pain and suffering that it had brought the world.

_You're preventing another woman from becoming a widow_, one of her fellow nurses had told her, _isn't that a reward in itself?_

It was a good enough reason, but that didn't keep Sybil from feeling useless from time to time.

"Did your husband serve?"

Isibéal shook her head, dislodging a few strands of fair hair from their pins, which she quickly tucked back in place. She blinked quickly several times, as if dispelling tears, and Sybil saw her grip on her handkerchief tighten, crushing the fabric. "He died in nineteen-sixteen, during the-"

"Rising," Sybil interrupted, nodding. "I know."

How could she forget?

She remembered that day when she'd told Tom how "England wasn't at its best," sometime around when he'd been called up to serve, and how he'd responded by snapping at her, telling her how his cousin had been shot dead in the first hours of what would be almost a week's worth of fighting. It was hardly something Sybil was likely to forget, especially when she'd learned that the cousin in question was Mairead's brother. After her encounter with Tom on the subject, however, she'd been hesitant to broach the subject with the maid, for fear of upsetting her as she'd done Tom.

"So you must think he was a rebel too." These next words were bitter, too harsh to be coming from one as gentle and mild as Isibéal seemed to be. Sybil could hear the distasteful curl of the other woman's lip, the kind of distaste that a handful of the Irish seemed to have for the English.

And who could blame them?

Though Sybil's knowledge of the English-Irish relationship was shamefully limited, from what she did understand was that the Irish wanted independence, and had striven for it for centuries, yet they were denied most of what they asked for. It wasn't just political though, there was a religious aspect to it, the ages-old dispute between Catholics and Protestants, that wasn't just the disdainful attitudes towards each other, but full-out discrimination, with violence between the two groups that never seemed to truly end.

Isibéal had a reason to dislike the English, because they'd killed her husband without any reason. Mairead's reason was just the same, only he'd been her brother, which Sybil supposed put things closer and made it more painful.

"I don't think he was, no," Sybil answered. "He was just walking down the street, wasn't-?"

"North King's Street, yes."

Sybil nodded. "I'm sorry."

Isibéal waved her off. "Don't be. You didn't pull the trigger, and besides, it's not as if I'm all on my own. Mairead sends some of her wages t'help, 'cause the shop doesn't pay me much, but we manage."

"That's very kind of her," Sybil said.

She made a note to ask Mrs. Hughes to see about increasing Mairead's wages, though she knew it was too lofty an idea for the housekeeper to ever agree, regardless of who was asking. Surely, if the housekeeper knew where the girl sent half her earnings, she would see it as a worthy cause.

That would hardly be fair, never mind nearly impossible, Sybil realized, rationale winning out over her idea. And imagine what position you'd be putting Mairead in!

"Mairead's a good girl," Isibéal commented. "She'll grow into a fine young woman- she is, even if she is a bit like her mother- and her loyalty is beyond admirable. She'd do anything for one of her own, something that now extends to you, I suppose, seeing as Tom's always been her favorite."

"Is he then?"

"Aye, he is. He and Sam were close y'see, and...and Tom was best man at our wedding. Promised Sam t'make him best man at his, but clearly that didn't work out…"

"I would've loved to've met him."

"He would too, I know he would."

The clatter of ceramics being set on the table too quickly, followed by an under-the-breath curse caught Sybil's attention.

"Mairead?" she called. "Is everything alright?"

"Nothing I can't handle," the younger woman called back. "Don't worry."

Sybil turned to Isibéal. "Excuse me. I'm just going to make sure Mairead's okay."

"And best you do. She's too proud t'admit when she needs help sometimes, and I'd say now she does, at least a little."

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**A/N: Thank you for reading~ I hope you enjoyed it and please leave any reviews or questions or whatever. **


	24. A Helping Hand

**A/N: Hello all! I'd like to take the time and thank you for your continued support of A Patch of Clover. I'm incredibly thankful that a lot of people are interested in Mairead's story! **

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Downton Abbey_**

**Enjoy~**

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At Isibéal's urging, Sybil hurried to the kitchen, and found Mairead sitting with her back to the sitting room at the small table that Sybil could only describe as being positioned in the left quadrants of the room, close to the hearth.

"Is everything alright?"

Mairead turned around in her seat, and Sybil could see that the younger woman was holding her left hand gingerly in her right, as if it had been injured somehow. Three mugs sat in front of her, steam curling up from the surface of the liquid in whispy grey ribbons.

"Just misjudged m'ability t'carry more than two mugs without a tray," she said, "nothing t'be worried over."

Sybil's attention went to Mairead's hand, trying to discern what was the matter. As far as she knew, there hadn't been anything wrong with it when they'd walked up to the cottage, unless she'd been concealing it then too.

"She's too proud t'admit when she needs help."

Wasn't that what Isibéal had said just now?

"What happened to your hand?" Sybil asked, deciding to cut straight to it, rather than let Mairead evade her inquires, as she no doubt would. Isibéal had said Mairead wouldn't admit to needing help, and so Sybil would spare her the trouble and get straight to pointing out that something was amiss.

She'd had to do this multiple times during the war, though a grown man was definitely more difficult to convince than Mairead would be. Of course, the officers had been different, because they were completely dependent on her and the rest of the nurses, and Mairead clearly wasn't.

Mairead glanced down at her hand, and Sybil caught a glimpse of a swath of red, pink, and even some white across the back of her hand. "I spilt the tea," she said, angling her hand away the second she realized Sybil was looking and pressing her lips into a straight line. "It's not that bad, and it doesn't hurt either."

Sybil sighed. "Let me look at it." Her tone was equal parts gentle and firm, the same tone she used with the officers convalescing at Downton during the war when they were being stubborn about admitting to needing assistance with things.

She'd learned early on that being the gentle Lady Sybil that everyone knew wouldn't get her anywhere with her patients. The thing was, she wasn't Lady Sybil during the war. She was Nurse Crawley, and when the war was over and she was no longer needed at the Downton Village Hospital (though oh, she would've stayed on if only her parents had let her!), even then, she wasn't Lady Sybil. She was Sybil Crawley, fiancée of Tom Branson, and now, in June 1919, she was Mrs. Sybil Branson.

Of course, being a complete tyrant wouldn't do either. She recalled there being a girl at her nursing school who seemed to think that the patient, being more or less completely dependent on the nurse, could be treated however the nurse saw fit if it meant he made a recovery. The poor girl hadn't had much success, at least that's what Sybil remembered.

"Why? I said, I'm fine. It doesn't hurt at all," Mairead protested, scooting away from Sybil as the older woman sat beside her at the table.

"Mairead, you forget I worked as a nurse during the war," Sybil said, holding out her hand.

Even from where she sat, she could tell that the burn was second-degree at the worst, which was nowhere near as severe as the burn injuries she'd treated during the war, thank God, but she wished Mairead would just concede and let Sybil examine the burn. It would save her a lot of trouble in the future, and it might prevent scarring if they acted quickly enough.

"I said, it's not that bad."

"It's a second-degree burn. That's why you don't feel it, but you will if it's allowed to become infected, and it'll likely scar at this rate," she said flatly. "Now, are you going to let me take a look or not?"

She spoke more firmly this time, almost mimicking Mrs. Hughes and Mrs. Branson's tones of stern motherhood. Mairead wasn't her daughter, she understood that, but she felt a protectiveness towards the young woman who had kept her and Tom's secret for as long as they'd needed, and who now was her kin.

_She might as well be,_ Sybil thought, _even if she's only five years younger, though in that case, I would be proud to call her my sister. _

"Fine," Mairead said, and Sybil could swear she caught the younger woman rolling her eyes at her as she took Mairead's hand in both of hers.

"That wasn't too hard, now was it?" Sybil peered closely at the burn, which was thankfully not as large as she thought it was, though the damage was definitely enough to warrant being classified as second-degree. She let Mairead withdraw her hand when she was satisfied with her examination, though that wasn't without the assurance that she would stay put while Sybil went to fetch some cool water to bathe it in until she could ask Mrs. Branson if there was some sort of salve that she could use.

"I suppose not," said she when Sybil returned with a basin filled with cold water (she'd taken a few small chunks from the block of ice in the icebox to lower the temperature of the water to a satisfactory temperature). "You better not be like this to Tom, or he might divorce you."

"I thought Catholics didn't believe in divorce?" Sybil returned good-naturedly, soaking a flannel she'd found in one of the cupboards in the cold water. "Now hold your hand over the bowl. There you go, like that."

"You're right that we don't, but Tom hates being fussed over. He could be shot in the leg, and he'd tell you to bugger off if you tried to help him." Mairead rested her wrist on the lip of the bowl, clearly with the intent of submerging her hand in the ice water.

_Why does that sound so familiar? _Sybil wondered, a smile twitching at the corner of her lips as she took Mairead's hand and held it over the bowl. "I know that seems like a good idea, but it won't do much good. You might tear the blisters open, which will only increase your risks of infection."

"Yes, Nurse Crawley."

"Nurse Branson now, I suppose." She soaked the flannel again and wrung it out over the burn. She'd have to be at this for another ten minutes or so, if she wanted to do it like she'd been taught in nursing school. "Do you know where Mrs. Branson keeps her first aid-box? Or at least some burn cream?"

"I wouldn't know," she said, glancing along the row of cupboards. "We'll have t'wait 'til the guests've left, or at least James, so she's in a more peaceable mood…"

Sybil pressed her lips together. "Very well," she muttered, setting the flannel down so she could examine Mairead's hand now that she'd treated it a little.

There was definitely damage to the deeper layers of skin that would take some time to heal, but perhaps it wouldn't scar as much as Sybil had initially thought, which was always good. She gave it two weeks at the most to heal, assuming they could get their hands on some kind of salve and as long as Mairead remembered to change the dressings regularly. She doubted that the other girl would remember, and never mind that if earlier was any indication, she might not be willing to let someone help her.

Perhaps Sybil could write to Anna and ask her to make sure that Mairead's dressings were changed at least twice a day (that was how often the officers' dressings were changed during the war, and so Sybil assumed this would be the safest way to go), or maybe she could ask Mrs. Hughes to let Mairead have at least a week and a half off, under the pretense of helping Sybil and Tom settle things. That way she'd be able to keep an eye on the girl and make sure infection didn't set in, and if it did, that she would be able to catch it quickly, before it got worse.

"Would she mind if I checked?"

Mairead shook her head. "I wouldn't think so," she said, "but we ought t'be clearing the table, else it'll never get done."

_Always back to work, _Sybil thought, a faint smirk laying itself across her lips. "You don't take a rest, do you?"

"Not really, no. Old habit, I suppose."

"Mrs. Hughes isn't working you too hard, is she? Otherwise I'll have a word—"

"Oh no. At my last post I was one of three maids, and the housekeeper there had standards she liked to keep." As Mairead spoke, Sybil couldn't help but notice how each word seemed to have been carefully selected, each spoken with a certain flatness. "She deplored laziness, and it was best you weren't ever caught off your feet when there was something you could be doing otherwise."

"Sounds awful."

Mairead shrugged. "Not so bad when you realize it gives y'something t'pass the time."

"You didn't have any friends?"

"Not really, no."

"Is that why you left then?"

Again, she shrugged. "I suppose that's part of it," she said. "The rest is…complicated. A story for 'nother day."

"I'd like to learn why, if you don't mind, so yes, another day."

* * *

**A/N: Thank you so much for reading! **

**A quick note: You are not supposed to use ice/ice cold water to treat a burn. I employed a little artistic license there. **

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and please leave a review if you have a moment. It means a lot.**


	25. All's Quiet

**A/N: I thought I'd shift some focus to the Branson family a little for a chapter, and maybe look at Tom a bit more closely, so here's a chapter for him and his family. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Downton Abbey._ You think we'd establish this earlier, but in case we haven't, what's a reminder now and then?**

**Enjoy~**

* * *

After Mairead and Sybil left with Isibéal, it became clear that the meal was nearing its close.

James Walsh was the first to depart, and no one challenged him as he rose from his seat. He offered to take his dishes up to the cottage, but a cold glare from Kieran stopped him. And so the young clerk gathered his things from the back of his chair, tipped his hat to the two Crawley sisters first, then to Tom and his mother, and left.

_Good riddance, _Tom thought, watching James go. He kept his expression as neutral as he could, at least until Lady Mary and Lady Edith excused themselves, claiming that they had an early ferry to catch on top of being "rather exhausted."

He knew he wouldn't gain any favor with the Crawley family if he lost his temper in front of them, especially over a topic such as the Easter Rising. It would only reaffirm Lord Grantham's opinions of him, if anything, and would be another strike against his cause.

His cause.

What was his "cause?"

Tom had always said his cause was Ireland's independence from England, and many of his views were the same as those preached by William Pearse and Michael Collins, that much was true. Did he want a free Ireland? Of course he did, but more specifically, he wanted an Ireland that had won her independence with as little bloodshed as possible. He knew people— men and women alike— who were more than eager to die for a free Ireland, and once upon a time, he had been one of them, along with Sam.

And why not? They knew all about the Irish blood that had been spilt across the centuries in the name of freedom at places like Limerick, and the Flight of the Wild Geese that followed, the rising in the late eighteenth century, which had been memorialized in a song that both of them had known by heart, once upon a time. Wasn't it the highest honor to die for one's country? Or did that just apply when England decided it did?

Tom had once sworn he hated the English, from the Queen to the lowest pauper. As far as he was concerned, they'd all done his people nothing but harm, discriminating against Irish Catholics during the Ascendency by denying them their inheritance and barring them from a majority of professions, even if they did allow Catholics to practice freely. The blight had been what just about did the country in, and Queen Victoria barely cast a glance their way. These were the wounds that had been inflicted upon Ireland by the lion that was England, and Tom knew they were still fresh and open in some parts of the country.

Sam's dislike for the English had died down when he met Isibéal, and perhaps it had disappeared completely when they were married. Tom found the same thing happening when he met Sybil; her mild manner and never-ending selflessness had quieted his abhorrence of everything to do with England. She'd given him a strange kind of hope, and he remembered what it said in the Bible, about loving one's neighbor, something he'd never considered, not until he met Sybil.

His cause had been Ireland until then, but when Sybil came downstairs in those blue trousers of hers, Tom realized that he loved her, and she became his cause. He would do everything in his power to defend her—to defend them— and that was what Sam had decided too, that Isibéal was a more worthy cause than Ireland.

"Well that went well," Kieran remarked, breaking the silence that had settled over the remaining Bransons like a dusting of snow. "Why did you think inviting James Walsh would be a good idea?"

"You seemed in support of it," Tom's mother remarked, "so I don't see why you're botherin' to complain."

"I didn't know he'd be as pro-British as he was just now, an' I thought Mairead might like t'have someone other than Isibéal t'talk to, seeing we all know how that'd end up going."

"Whatever y'say Kieran. All we can do now is hope it didn't spoil Tom's wedding day, and the Lord knows Their Ladyships are going t'have a few tales for their father, 'bout how unruly us Irish are. I'd say y'owe Tom, Sybil, and Mairead all apologies, then maybe this day won't be curst all the way."

"Don't bother," Tom said, spotting Mairead as she and Sybil made their way to where the dinner had been set up, no doubt to collect the dishes. "You'll just owe me a favor when I ask it, how about that?"

Kieran shrugged. "Why not?"

"It's a deal then. Don't you dare forget."

"I wouldn't dare, though y'owe me for driving Mairead here from the church, don't forget that either."

"Y'would've done that anyways, y'scheming bastard."

"Tom," his mother said, narrowing her gaze. "I raised y'better than that, I hope, that you'd use such language. I hope you don't talk like that 'round His Lordship."

"Listen to your ma, Tommy boy," Kieran teased, though he didn't escape his mother's glare either.

"Both of you, cut that out 'fore the ladies get down here an' hear you." Tom's mother stood and went to go collect the plates from Lady Mary and Lady Edith's seats. "Sybil may've married a good practicing Catholic, Tom, but she's still Protestant and not above a divorce."

"Moira, there's no need t'make such a point," Tom's father said, pinching the bridge of his nose, an attempt at relieving one of his frequent headaches. "Religion's been a problem long enough. Be glad your son got married, or that Alice wasn't here t'stir up trouble."

"I was just saying Tom better watch his language. Nothing more." She shifted her focus from her husband and sons and fixed it on Sybil and Mairead. "Where've you two been? Weren't going t'make me take this up m'self, were you?"

Mairead gave a quick shake of her head. "No Aunt Moira," she said. "But there's someone up at the cottage t'see Tom and congratulate him and Sybil."

"Who?" Tom asked, furrowing his brows. "Everyone's left, and I can't think of anyone we invited who didn't show at some point."

"I have a feelin' she invited herself, if my guess is right," Tom's father commented.

"Isibéal's with her in the cottage, so she doesn't come down here," Sybil offered, looking to Tom with confusion written plainly across her features, etched into the delicate furrow of her brow and apparent in the way her lips pressed together.

"Let's go see her then," Tom said, forcing himself to speak evenly, so he didn't seem to be anticipating the inevitable. Perhaps if he could keep everything calm, it wouldn't be as trying an exchange as it promised to be.

"Moira, perhaps you ought t'stay, make sure everything stays put," Tom's father suggested, surveying the table.

"But it wouldn't be polite would it?" she challenged. "We haven't seen your darling sister in years, and we can take most everything up in one go if we all pitch in."

"Aunt Moira—"

"Not now Mairead. Now, everyone take what y'can and we'll be on our way. Knowing Alice, the second the wind blows the other way, she'll be gone."

* * *

**A/N: What a chapter! Though I suppose that's nothing compared to what is going to be served up next. **

**Thank you for reading and stay tuned, because things are about to heat up. **


	26. The Uninvited Guest

**A/N: So now we get to meet Alice Hayes...I think the proper thing to do would be to advise you guys to buckle your seat belts, because it's going to get a little bumpy. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Downton Abbey **

**Disclaimer Pt. 2: All Irish Gaelic in this chapter is courtesy of Wikipedia, GoogleTranslate, and various other Internet sources**

**Translations:  
*****Darling  
******Englishwoman  
*******England  
********Little whore**

**Enjoy~**

* * *

Tom and the others crept in through the back door, each carrying something from the table that they soon set down somewhere in the kitchen to be dealt with later, once Alice was safely out of the picture.

Knowing Alice, her visit would be a short one, hopefully because she wanted to get back to her work as soon as possible and not because of the quarrel that would inevitably erupt between her and Moira.

_Dear God, _Tom prayed as he and his mother led the others into the sitting room, _please let them be civil with each other. _

Alice Hayes, as many often remarked, was the near-spitting image of her daughter, or rather, she was the original and Mairead was the copy. Both women had the same light brown eyes, dark auburn hair, and thin lips set in a unyielding line. They both stood at roughly the same height, with perhaps an inch or two of difference between them, and their backs were as unyieldingly straight as their lips. Though of similar height, Alice was of the same stocky build as Tom's father (though there was evidence of the slight slenderness that Tom recalled his grandmam having, even in old age), while Mairead's build was slight, very much like Anna's, though with a more accentuated waist than the head housemaid, even with a corset.

"Good evening Alice," Moira said, crossing her arms across her chest and lifting her chin so she could see eye-to-eye with her sister-in-law. "I thought you weren't going to show."

"Why wouldn't I?" Alice asked, her lips parted and her eyes wide. "It's not as if I wasn't invited, and Tom's my kin too."

"Yes, but there's a difference between invited and _wanted,_ isn't there?"

"Christ," Tom heard Mairead mutter from where she stood beside him, and he couldn't help but agree with his young cousin. It seemed that his prayers were going unanswered, if not completely unregarded in the first place.

"Moira, Alice, please try t'be civil," Tom's father pleaded, his eyes squeezing shut as he pinched the bridge of his nose, most likely to ward off a headache.

_They must be getting worse, _Tom thought, remembering what his mother had told him about his father's recent health.

"It's too late for that, Laddie," Moira said, shooting her husband a quick, cold glare. "She should've known better than to come if she wanted to avoid this."

"Well excuse me for wanting to wish my nephew congratulations." A long sigh followed Alice's words, and she glanced away, as if she could conceal the annoyed roll of her eyes. "Can I at least meet the newest addition to the family? Then I'll be on my way, though I was hoping you might have room for me, at least for the night."

"We're packed to the roof, I'm afraid," Moira said, and Tom knew his mother wasn't lying. "Isibéal and Mairead are already going to have t'share if we want to give Sybil and Tom a proper wedding night, which puts Kieran on a cot down here."

"That's nothing new, though, is it?" Alice's attention fixated itself on Tom's older brother, who hung back from the group, his arms crossed in front of him. She gave him a critical look, her eyes flicking from his dark blond hair all the way to his slightly scuffed shoes. "I don't think I've ever seen you this sober. Usually you're passed out when I come to visit...Did Tom have t'bully you to it?"

"Well y'don't visit that often, do you?" Moira placed her hands on her hips, her back straightening in an attempt to give her some height (which wasn't to say she was short, only Alice was a mite taller than most women her age). "Though I suppose your job keeps you plenty busy."

"I didn't come for you to tell me how to raise my children, Moira."

"Good thing too, looking at the rotten job you did with it. I wonder what Cormac- bless his soul- would've said, if he were 'round to see what your lot turned out to be."

"Aunt Moira, Mrs. Hayes, please," Mairead said, shouldering past Tom. "There's really no need-"

"If you're calling your mam "Mrs. Hayes" to her face, _mo luiche beag, _there is certainly a need for me t'intercede. You're her daughter, not a stranger, though the way she "raised" you, I can understand," Moira interrupted.

"Moira, _a mhuirnín_*, let's jus'oblige Alice an' let'er be on 'er way," Laddie pleaded, brushing his dark grey hair from his face and casting a nervous, furtive glance in Sybil's direction.

"Finally, some sense," Alice exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. "And of all people, it comes from Lawrence. Yes, just let me meet my new niece, and I'll be gone, seeing as the legendary hospitality of Moira Branson is just a legend. If we're lucky, we might get this through before it's completely dark."

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" Laddie said, his eyes brightening at his success. "Tommy boy, would y'like to do the honors? She's your wife, after all."

Tom gave his father a curt nod and gestured for Sybil to move closer to him. Until now, she'd been watching quietly from beside Mairead, clearly trying very hard not to seem as confused by the unfortunate dynamic that existed between his mother and Mairead's mother.

"Aunt Alice, may I introduce my wife, Sybil?"

"What a fine young gentleman you've grown to be," Alice commented as she went to shake Sybil's hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Sybil."

"And you too, Mrs. Hayes," Sybil said, hesitating a moment before shaking Alice's hand (it probably wasn't something she was used to, Tom realized, hoping that Alice would discount Sybil's hesitation as her being shy).

"You married a _bhean na Breataine**,_" Alice noted, a smirk settling across her lips. "Thought y'said you hated all to do with _Sasana***_? Or was I imagining the days when you and Sam curst Queen Victoria, swearing never t'leave your country an' work for hers?"

Sybil gave him a wide-eyed look, and Tom felt his cheeks redden- with rage, embarrassment, he wasn't quite sure.

"We did no such thing," he said. "And even if I did, I'm a different man than I was then. I know what it is t'love, and love doesn't care for countries and allegiances, last I checked. I love Sybil, and she loves me, otherwise she wouldn't've given up all she did t'be with me, would she?"

"And I suppose she had quite a bit t'give up, though I doubt she did it freely. When's the baby due?"

"Pardon?" Sybil drew her brows together, and the corners of her lips pressed into a small frown. "I'm not...we're not expecting. I don't know who told you such a thing."

"No one told me," Alice said. "I guessed. Why else would a woman of your upbringing be marrying a man like Tom? Last I checked, he was a chauffeur to some earl in Yorkshire, same house as Mairead, too, and you, by the sound of things, are a lady...or rather, you were."

"If you mean to say…"

"Oh I mean nothing."

"Then be quiet 'bout it!" It was Mairead who spoke just then, her eyes flashing as she took a step closer to Tom and Sybil, as if that would protect them from Alice's snide comments. "If y'dont' know anything 'bout it for certain, don't say a thing. Isn't that what y'always said, Mrs. Hayes?"

Alice took a deep, resigned breath. "Indeed it is, Mairead," she said. "And if anyone is, you're the expert on taking members of England's upper class to bed, so why don't you enlighten us?"

"That's hardly fair," Mairead breathed, her voice beginning to break. Tom could almost hear her on the verge of tears, but by some miracle, she retained her composure. "How can you say such a thing?"

"When it's the truth that your daughter's slept with her employer's son, it hardly weighs on my conscience, _fraochÚn beag****._"

"You don't know anything," Mairead said, shaking her head quickly, her gaze lowered and her hands curled into tight fists.

"I may know nothing, but at least I had the decency to show up for Sam's funeral. Where were you then? Off seducing Lord Grantham's heir?"

Tom's chest tightened, and he clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to strike Alice for what she'd just said. Did the woman have any respect?

_Apparently not, _he thought as he took a step towards Mairead, placing his arm around her shoulder and drawing her close. "Perhaps y'should be heading back, 'fore it gets dark," he told Alice. "I'm sure Kieran would give y'a ride if you like."

Kieran's expression darkened, and the older Branson rolled his eyes. "If that's what y'd like, Aunt Alice."

"I'll walk, thank you," Alice said, smoothing a crease in her skirt. "At my age, it's best t'try and exercise as much as you can, isn't it? That way I won't end up like Mr. Levy, though he ought t'be in the ground by now, yet I heard he played at your wedding."

"Yes. He did." Tom ran a hand through his hair, trying to appear nonchalant about the action, but there was no hiding his agitation. "Now leave. You came to wish us well, and in the process you've insulted my wife, and upset your daughter for the second time today. I think we can all say you've overstayed your welcome, Aunt Alice."

"Look at you, takin' charge. Your mam mus' be proud."

"Aye, I am, now listen t'the boy and leave, 'fore Kieran 'sides t'take back his offer."

"Very well then. I won't dare impose, so this is farewell." Alice let out another long sigh. "Congratulations, Tom, and welcome t'the family, Lady Sybil. I'd get out while y'still can."

With that, she turned and left, collecting her coat and hat from the pegs inside the door with one deft movement and heading out the door in silence.

As the door slammed shut, everyone seemed to let go of their breath, and Mairead curved towards Tom, who wrapped his other arm around her small body without taking his gaze from the door, just to make sure Alice was truly gone.

It was Sybil who spoke first: "That was...lovely, I suppose."

* * *

**A/N: Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. It was quite the challenge to write (anyone who follows my tumblr will know that I had to do a full outline to get everything right), but in the end, I think it turned out quite well. **

**Alternative chapter titles include "Now You Know Why We Don't Invite Alice Hayes To Family Functions," "Who Would Win In a Sass Contest: Mrs. Branson or The Dowager Countess?" and "The Wedding Is More Or Less Ruined At This Point."**

**As always, reviews are more than welcome (encouraged, even), so don't be afraid to leave one. What did you like? What did you hate? What do you want to see?**


	27. Alone At Last

**A/N: So, to make up for the emotional disaster that was the last chapter, here is a less intense chapter, I promise. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Downton Abbey_, nor am I in possession of a full understanding of Irish politics/history in the 1919-ish era. All information regarding that is courtesy of Wikipedia and a miscellaneous of other internet sources. **

* * *

As soon as Kieran left to drive Alice into town, those that were left dispersed without a second's hesitation. Moira and Laddie said their goodnights and retreated to the guest bedroom, while Isibéal went to go start cleaning up from dinner, leaving Mairead, Tom, and Sybil together in the sitting room.

"Mairead, I'd like to check on the burn before you go to bed," Sybil said, breaking the uneasy silence that had settled between the three of them. "Just to change the dressings, then I'll leave it be, promise."

Tom furrowed his brow and glanced over at Mairead. "Did I miss something?"

His cousin shook her head. "Everything's fine, Tom," she said, pulling away from him and wrapping her arms around her waist. "Nothing for you t'worry 'bout, promise."

"Mairead-"

"For once, can you please just let it be?" she asked, angry splotches of color appearing across her cheeks. "Every time something happens, you find the need t'step in...I'm nineteen years old, Tom, hardly a child, wouldn't you agree?"

Tom opened his mouth to speak, but before he could assure his cousin that he didn't see her as a child, she'd turned her back to him and stalked out of the sitting room, moving with the quick, uneven gait of an animal fleeing a predator. He knew she wouldn't go the kitchen, a suspicion that was confirmed when he heard the back door slam shut.

_It's not your fault, _he reminded himself, turning his attention away from the path Mairead had taken and instead focusing on Sybil, his wife. _Do not let her ruin your wedding night. _

"Should one of us go after her?" Sybil asked, craning her neck to see over Tom's shoulder, as if Mairead would miraculously reappear. "It's getting rather late, and-"

"She'll come back when she's ready," Tom assured his wife, cupping her cheek and guiding her gaze towards him. "Don't worry love."

"I don't doubt it, but shouldn't someone try to talk about it with her? I'd hate to think she's bottling it all up...that only makes things worse, you know."

Tom couldn't help but marvel at the concern Sybil was showing for Mairead just then, nor could he help but feel the slightest bit proud of his wife. Any other aristocrat would just put Mairead out of mind the second she was out of sight, but Sybil continued to worry, even after Mairead's outbursts. Somehow Tom found that a reason to be proud, that his wife was not like her fellow aristocrats, in that she wore her compassion openly and didn't treat it as if it made her less of a lady.

At her words, Tom could only smile bitterly. Oh, he knew how painful it was to "bottle it all up," as Sybil put it, and the day he'd told Sybil about Sam's death was just as painful a reminder of what happened when it'd been kept suppressed for too long.

"She'll come 'round," he assured her, pulling her close and threading his arms around her waist. "And if it starts to get dark and she isn't back, I promise I'll go get her."

"Thank you," Sybil murmured, tucking her head under Tom's chin. "I know she's not a child, but is it wrong for me to want to mother her, even just a little?"

Tom laughed, to himself mostly. "You never cease to amaze me," he told Sybil, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

She looked up at him, her dark brows drawn together and her head tilted to the side in an almost birdlike manner. "I don't quite know what you mean."

"I just don't see how you always manage to be so kind all the time, especially to people like Mairead, who-"

"Tom Branson!" Sybil exclaimed, her eyes wide. "Mairead's done everything to deserve kindness. In case you didn't see just now, she stood up to her mother when she said those things about me being pregnant out of wedlock. There's few who'd do that."

"You would."

"But Mama wouldn't dare say such a thing. Mary or Edith might, but not Mama."

"Alright, you win. And yes, it was rather brave of her, standing up to her mam like that," Tom conceded. "You must've done an awfully good turn for her."

"I don't understand."

"In case you didn't notice, Mairead and her mam don't exactly get along like your usual mother an' daughter."

"I noticed she didn't call her by anything other than "Mrs. Hayes" the whole time she was here, so I did suspect something," Sybil admitted. "Though she doesn't talk about her mother often enough for me to know any more than that."

Tom sighed. "That's because there isn't anything else t'know," he said. "Alice is an excellent example of why housekeepers aren't supposed to be married with children, I'm afraid. She more or less left Mairead and her siblings with their Aunt Bridget, and it wasn't until Mairead was thirteen or so that the two actually met, and that was when Mairead started working in Manchester, where Alice was- and still is, not surprisingly- the housekeeper."

"She never visited?"

"On Christmas or Easter, maybe, or during the Season, so rarely enough, and then when her husband died, she just stopped."

"So Mairead never knew her mother?" Sybil asked, as if that wasn't apparent from what she'd just been told.

He shook his head. "Outside of a professional relationship, no."

"I still don't understand...I mean, I do, but why does Mairead always seem so unused to kindness? Surely she would welcome it, wouldn't she?"

"Sybil, love, this isn't a novella," Tom said, shaking his head once more. "It doesn't work that way. Just because Mairead's never had a proper mother doesn't mean she craves that sort of sympathy. My guess is she's learned to get by without help like that."

"But she let's you comfort her. Why?"

"Because I never tried to be her mother. That's why she and my mam tend to disagree, because my mam tries to be her mother."

"If you weren't her mother, than what were you?"

"Her cousin. Her favorite brother's best friend. Her friend," he answered, his expression softening at the memory of him and Sam playing with her when all three of them were young, when Ireland was the lush green paradise of legend, and they could easily have been the young princes and princess of those same stories.

Those days were gone now. Sam was dead, and Mairead was just as hard and cold as Tom was, though Tom had found hope in the woman he now held tenderly against his body. Was there hope for Mairead? Perhaps, but he didn't know if his young cousin would find it before she became too embittered to benefit from it.

He glanced outside to find it was beginning to get dark, and he knew he would have to go fetch Mairead sooner rather than later. His mother may've lived in the countryside, too far from any major towns to be in any kind danger, but that didn't stop him from worrying. A few of his close friends had mentioned at the wedding that there were several groups causing trouble (they didn't specify what kind of trouble, but given what he'd read about the SFSR* being the only ones willing to recognize the Dáil**, it couldn't be good, regardless) here and there. He didn't want anything preventable happening to Mairead, that was all, not to mention he'd promised Sybil he'd go get her once it started getting dark.

"You should go get her," Sybil said, pulling away from Tom. "I'll go get ready for bed...Perhaps our official wedding night ought to wait, just so you can make sure Mairead's alright."

"She'll be fine, I'm sure. There's no reason not to go ahead."

The truth was Tom wanted so badly to be intimate with Sybil, to be able to experience the joy of finally being married after waiting so long. Didn't he deserve to experience Sybil's skin against his own, no uniforms or corsets to separate them? It wasn't as if it was improper- she was, after all, his wife at long last- and was it not his reward from God for his patience?

"She's your family, Tom. She should come first."

"Sybil, you're my wife, that's family, isn't it?"

"But I'll be here tomorrow, and the next day, and every day until we're as old as your parents, Tom. She's taking the first boat home tomorrow, no doubt, though I would like her to stay, if only for a week longer. The burn on her hand will need looking to, and-"

"I'll try and talk to her about it, perhaps you can telephone Mrs. Hughes and ask. She always was rather soft on you, so maybe you can get Mairead some more time off." Then, remembering that his parents didn't have a telephone, he added: "First thing tomorrow morning I'll ask Kieran to drive you over to the post office if that's what you want to do."

"Sounds perfect." She rose on the balls of her feet and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek. "Now go get Mairead. I can tell you're worrying, and there's no point in delaying if it prolongs worry, so go."

_She knows me too well, _he thought, his mind reeling even from the chastity of the kiss. "Right away," he said, laughter coloring his voice. "I shouldn't be long."

"You know me, Tom Branson, I'd wait forever."

* * *

***Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic**

****the first meeting of the unicameral parliament of the revolutionary Irish Republic. (source: wiki/First_Dáil)**

**A/N: Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!**

**This is kind of turning into the Tom &amp; Sybil's Wedding Show, and yes, there are going to be more chapters before Mairead heads home to Downton (and I may or may not be putting Sybil's death off for as long as I possibly can), but for now, please bear with and enjoy the Sybil/Tom fluff. **

**As per usual, reviews are very much encouraged, and once more, thanks for reading!**


	28. By the Old Stone Wall

**A/N: So there isn't really much to say, except thanks to crystabelshalott (did I get your name right?) for helping me with this chapter. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Downton Abbey, nor am I an expert on Irish geography (I took a few liberties in terms of distances I think but...yup, that's all I think) **

**Enjoy~**

* * *

It didn't take Tom long to find Mairead.

He knew her well enough to know where to look, which was really all anyone needed to know if they wanted to find her and she wasn't in the busiest part of the household. At his mother's house, he knew she could only be one of three places: on the hillside facing the village, the old shed on the edge of the woods, or near the crumbling stone wall that ran a mile and a half or so in either direction.

He found her by the old stone wall, standing with her back to him, her body as still as stone. Around her, the untended grass came a few inches past her knee, brushing against her skirt even without having to be blown by the wind. As he came nearer, Tom could see she was leaning on the wall, and also that she'd taken her hair down from the intricate knot that his mother had put it in that morning (there was no question to it) and redone it in a plait that now followed the curve of her back.

"Mind if I join you?" Tom asked, setting the lantern he'd brought down from the house on the wall before finding a spot next to her on the wall.

"I never said y'could," she said flatly, though she didn't make any move to turn away from him. Instead, she kept her attention fixed on the greater hills in the distance- the Wicklow Mountains- her eyes darting up and down their silhouettes as if searching for something.

"What're y'looking for?"

Her dark eyes darted his way for barely a moment before fixing themselves back on the mountains. "Nothing, I guess," was her answer, and she kept staring off into the distance.

_So much like Sam, _Tom thought, shaking his head. Mairead may've been the spitting image of her mother, but she would always be more like her brother than anything. Both were quick-witted and opinionated, yet rational at the same time (Sam had been much better at this than Mairead), and both had the most vexing way of speaking at times, especially when they were cross. They liked to act as if nothing had happened, content to look out on the hills as Mairead was doing now, and behave like children when anyone tried to interrupt their thoughts.

What was Mairead thinking about, Tom wondered, that had her attention so intently fixed on the Wicklow Mountains? Was she praying? Thinking about Sam? Turning over her mother's visit in her mind, committing every detail of that encounter to memory? And what for? Or perhaps she was dreaming of the many stories that she'd learned as a child, and wondering if somewhere on the far-off mountains, there were still O'Byrnes who knew that this land had been theirs once, or something equally far-fetched.

He recalled how she'd listened with wide eyes to the stories that filled the air around them, stories about the O'Byrnes and others like them- the old princes of Ireland. Had the Bransons been among those princes? Most likely not, but they were as much the sons and daughters of this land as the Wild Geese of Limerick and the old chieftains.

"Sam an' I came out here once, 'bout seven or eight years ago, and we just sat here, like we are now."

"Were y'shooting?"

"Not this time, no."

Her ability to remember that Tom and Sam often came to this very wall so Sam could help Tom with his shooting was impressive, especially given that she'd been eleven or twelve at the time. They'd practice with old bottles or tins, and very rarely did they actually shot anything living.

"It's pro'ly not a good sign, Tom, if someone from the city can shoot better than a country boy like yourself," Sam would often say, though he hardly had the right to call himself a "city boy." He was as much a country boy as Tom was, though he spent his days in Bray, and later Dublin, doing God-knows-what, but it was something the two cousins always joked about.

"Then what were y'doing?"

"Same as we are now. He was staring off at the mountains, Christ knows what was going through that head of his, and I was tryin' to get him t'come back in. It was autumn, so it was colder out than usual, and Isibéal's da had just come for dinner, so Sam could ask permission to marry her again."

"Which try was this?"

"Fifth, I think."

"So he said no."

"That he did," Tom confirmed. "But I turn to Sam and tell him the old man's gone at last, and Sam doesn't even bat a lash as he says: "Tommy, y'see there, on the mountain?" I ask him what he saw and he tells me he thought he saw the moonlight catch off a pike, "like a trout in the river," he says, and I tell him he couldn't've, 'cause no one fights with pikes these days."

Tom heard Mairead let out an irritated "hmphf," followed by a long sigh. "What're you gettin' at, Tom?" she asked. "I don't see pikemen, and what Sam saw was what he always saw- something that wasn't there anymore."

The bitterness in her voice stung Tom- where was the Mairead he knew? The young woman on the wall was familiar, yes, but the words coming from her lips weren't. Hadn't she always been so full of hope, a dreamer like Sam? Where had that part of her gone since the wedding dinner? Had Aunt Alice's sudden visit brought this on? Or had it been James Walsh?

Another possibility tugged at Tom's mind, as it had since Mairead had arrived at Downton in February of 1916.

"Mairead, what happened in Manchester?"

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**A/N: OOOOH CLIFFHANGER.**

**Yes, we will actually find out what happened in Manchester next chapter (as well as have a bit of an adventure in the process)! Your patience will be rewarded, dear readers, never fear. **

**In the meantime, reviews are welcome. **

**Thanks for reading~**


	29. By the Rising Moon

**A/N: And now, the chapter you've all been waiting for (well, hopefully you're not reading this just to find out what really happened in Manchester, though that is probably the most common question I'm getting in reviews)! **

**The Chapter In Which We Learn What Really Happened in Manchester**

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Downton Abbey_. If I did, I would be making this (or at least everything from the wedding on) into a mini-series, or even better, a movie. All I'd have to do would be find an actress for Mairead. **

**Disclaimer Pt. 2: I am not an expert on Irish history. This is slightly important for this chapter.**

**Enjoy~ **

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The stillness in the air became more apparent as Tom asked his question, and it appeared to him that Mairead had turned to stone. Her eyes remained fixed ahead, and she seemed to stop breathing altogether before she spoke.

"What's it to you?"

"That's clearly what set you off, when your mam mentioned it just-"

"She's not my mam," Mairead said, her voice firm and cold enough throw Tom off for a moment. "I doubt even she thinks of herself as such."

"Alright, alright, she's not," Tom said, trying to redirect the conversation back to what he wanted to know. If she didn't want to talk about her mother, fine, he wouldn't fight her for it, but he wanted to know what was so bad about Manchester. "But what happened at the Downings', Mairead? I know it wasn't anything t'do with your...to do with Mrs. Hayes, so don't lie and say it was."

Again, there was silence before Mairead answered. "I fell in love," she said, her voice still hard, but less frigid. "It was foolish of me, and I very nearly paid for it too."

"What was he like?"

Overhead, the sky was dimming rapidly, the brilliant, fiery colors of a summer sunset bleeding into blue with each passing minute. In the darker parts of the sky, a few stars shone, and absentmindedly, Tom counted twelve bright ones before returning his attention to Mairead.

"At first, kind enough, but he was reckless and didn't understand why I had to end it."

"Why'd you do it then?" Tom watched his cousin, hoping that he wasn't betraying the awe he felt at the sight of her speaking so tenderly all of a sudden. It was as if the sharp-tongued Mairead he knew had been swept away when he'd blinked, and replaced with a gentler copy. "If you loved him, surely you would've stood by him."

For the first time since his arrival at the wall, Mairead looked at him, meeting his eyes through the descending night. "He was my employer's son."

This...now this was a shock indeed.

Of all the people in the world, Mairead was the last one Tom could ever imagine having an affair of sorts with her employer's son.

"It would've been a proper scandal, and I don't know how in the world he didn't see it that way, and it wasn't as if we'd ever be married anyways. I was fifteen, he was seventeen. We were children. Foolish, stupid children."

He could hear the tears in her voice, even if she wasn't crying outright. "You were found out, weren't you?"

There was more to this (there was always more to these sorts of things, really) than she was telling, but Tom knew better than to rush it. Let her tell him in her own time, that was his plan. If she wanted to tell him just a bit of things, then so be it.

"Aye. One of the footmen found out Christmas Eve of '15, but that's not how Mrs. Hayes found out, I don't think. He promised not to tell a soul."

Was he mistaken, or was that relief he heard in Mairead's voice? And what was the importance of Christmas Eve of '15? There had to be something otherwise significant to the date, or else Mairead would've just given a more general time frame. There was definitely more to this than Tom had initially thought, and he knew he would have to hear it all to fully understand.

"And that's when you handed in your notice?"

"Not until January. I didn't want to-" Mairead fell quiet, and as soon as Tom bothered to question why, he heard it: footsteps.

His first thought was that either Kieran or Sybil was coming to bring them inside, but the sound of footsteps (were they marching? Tom couldn't tell. No, they weren't.) was coming from up the wall, away from the direction of the Bransons' cottage. It couldn't've been travellers either- it was too close to dark for anyone sensible to be about, not to mention the roads here were very rarely used by travelers. The only possibility that Tom couldn't find any way to rule out were the "troublemakers" that several guests at the wedding had mentioned to him in passing.

"Mairead," he said, keeping his voice low. "Get down, behind the wall, now."

His cousin furrowed her brow. "Who's coming?" she asked, glancing along the wall, searching for the source of the sound.

Tom took Mairead by the shoulder and turned her towards him. "_Now,_" he hissed.

Casting another furtive glance towards the sound of approaching footsteps, Mairead did as she was told, and sat at the base of the wall, her back pressed against the old stone.

Tom soon followed suit, searching through the grasses for his cousin's hand, to reassure her of his presence. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, almost drowning out the sound of footsteps made louder by the fear that was slowly creeping up on him. He felt Mairead beside him, pressed so firmly against him that he could feel her ribcage shrinking and expanding as she breathed, and she'd pulled his hand closer to her body.

"Shh," he whispered, placing a hand on the side of her face, guiding her attention towards him. "It's okay. It's going to be okay."

He'd never seen her in such a state- confused, fearful, bewildered- and he knew why she was acting this way. It was the same reason he was acting like this too.

Ireland was different.

This was not the Ireland Mairead had left a little over six years ago. Just as she'd changed, Ireland had changed, and the two were meeting each other as strangers. Tom didn't know what had changed it (the war, perhaps, or the Rising), and Ireland had never been completely safe before, that much was true, but this was a new danger.

"Hey," he said, ducking his head close to hers and speaking directly in her ear. "Just imagine we're playing hide-and-find with Sam and Henry Connolly and that lot, alright? I'm here, and nothing's gonna harm a hair on you, alright?"

She nodded, and he felt her take a deep breath.

"Oi, what's this doin' here?"

Tom felt Mairead's body stiffen, and he kept her close, painfully aware of his own ragged breaths. _They're just boys, _he told himself. _Chances are they live around here, and you knew them at some point or other. They won't harm you or Mairead. _

The footsteps stopped.

Whoever had been coming down the road had spotted the lantern (_Damn you for not putting it out, you fool! _Tom thought, shaking his head), or else they wouldn't've stopped. Chances were that they were gathered just on the other side of the wall, and could've easily spotted Tom and Mairead if either of them moved.

_Was this how it was in the trenches?_ Tom couldn't help but wonder, glancing along the length of the wall.

"Brennan didn't say anything 'bout a lantern on the wall, did he?" asked a younger voice.

"No, don't think he did."

"So who left it then? You don't think it's one of the boys in these parts, tryin' to send a message?"

"Why? Closest t'here is the Bransons, and they aren't for three-quarter miles that direction"- a hand appeared over the wall, pointing towards the direction Tom had come not minutes before- "and their boys aren't here. Left the nest for England, they did."

There was no mistaking the contempt in the older man's voice, and Tom thanked God that Kieran wasn't here, otherwise the older Branson would take it personally and pick a fight over it.

"Well they were both 'ere today. Saw them at the younger one's wedding. He was marrying a _bhean na Breataine_. Word is they'll be staying here for good."

_Just get a move on already, _Tom thought, still holding Mairead close.

"That's Henry Connolly," Mairead whispered, her voice trembling against the skin of his neck. She shifted on her folded legs, causing the grass to rustle.

"Hush boy!" the older of the two hissed. "I think I see somethin' comin' this way. Do y'want us t'get caught 'fore we can join the others?"

The hand disappeared, and Tom could hear the sound of what he thought was a rifle being shouldered, a suspicion that was confirmed when he heard the click of a flintlock. A second click followed- both men had their rifles poised to fire now, but fire at what? Had they been spotted?

Tom moved to pull Mairead closer, placing a hand between her shoulder blades and getting ready to tuck her body beneath his if it became necessary. His body coiled tight in anticipation, and his teeth perched on his lip. He was waiting. Waiting for the sound of bullet flying down the barrel of rifle and towards a target. He hoped Sybil hadn't decided to come out after them, that she'd obeyed him and stayed inside to wait for them. It was dangerous enough out here for him and Mairead, nevermind how dangerous it would be for Sybil if Henry Connolly and his companion were armed and ready to shoot the first thing they crossed paths with.

A shot rang out, and Mairead fell against him, her body rigid with fear. She had her hand clamped over her mouth, and her eyes, when she finally glanced up at Tom (or at the darkened sky, he couldn't tell), were wide with alarm.

There wasn't a second shot, only the sound of the two men shouldering their rifles, and a frustrated "hmphf" from the older man.

"Tha'ought t'scare 'em off," the older of the two said, and Tom could hear the crunch of the ground underfoot as the man took a step back, away from the wall. "Now we'd best be off, Henry, else Brennan'll be thinking we're not true to our words, yeah?"

"You're right...We've a mile or so t'go as it is. Best be gettin' on our way."

_Yes, go. Leave us in peace, _Tom thought, stroking Mairead's hair as he listened to the receding footsteps of Henry Connolly and his companion, waiting until he was sure they were far enough along to help Mairead into a crouching position.

"Let's get back, shall we?" he asked, keeping his voice at a whisper. They'd have to go back in the dark, or else Henry Connolly and his friend would have something they could more easily shoot at.

Mairead nodded, and rose to her feet, still clutching Tom's hand. "Did you ever read that poem by Yeats?" she asked quietly. "It came out...the year Sam was killed, I think. Sybil got me the book as a Christmas gift."

Yes, he remembered that Christmas, as well as Sybil's gift, which she'd told him was hopefully something to set her and Mairead in the direction of being friends. Tom had been the one to tell Sybil that Yeats was probably Mairead's favorite poet (he was one of Tom's favorites as well), and he remembered how excited Mairead had been to receive such a gift. Sam had always given Mairead books for Christmas, usually well-kept copies that he'd read and thought his sister would enjoy, and Mairead prized each book. Where she kept them, Tom hadn't the faintest idea, but no doubt she took good care of them.

"Which one was that again?"

She knit her brows in concentration, and Tom was glad to see that she'd recovered from what they'd witnessed at the wall. "The one that goes "_Was it for this the wild geese spread/The grey wing upon every tide*,_" she told him.

Now that he'd heard a line from the poem in question, he knew exactly which one Mairead was talking about. "What about it?"

"Well...jus' then, while we were listenin' to Henry Connolly an' his friend, I was thinkin' 'bout it. 'Bout the last line specifically."

"Alright." He glanced at her again. She looked somewhat troubled, despite the steadiness that had returned to her voice, if barely.

"_Romantic Ireland's dead an' gone._" Her expression darkened slightly, or it could've been the dark sky overhead, the half-moon throwing white light on everything, yet keeping things in half-shadow. "It really is, isn't it? Ireland's changing...This isn't what I remember it being like. This whole day has proven it."

Tom nodded solemnly. "Aye, that it is _a stóirín**,_" he said. "That it is…"

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***from _September 1913 _by W.B. Yeats, from _Responsibilities and Other Poems _(publication date: 1916)**

****my little love **

**A/N: I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and thank you for reading! Don't forget to review, and maybe we can start a petition to get Allen Leech and Jessica Brown Findlay (plus some others, obviously) to make a mini film out of the last ten chapters or so (which would make my life).**

**Thank you! **


	30. Worrying

**A/N: I can't believe it's been thirty chapters already! Thank you all for your amazing support, the fabulous reviews, and everything! I'm very thankful for such a great readership, and I hope you continue to stick with me as we journey farther into the 20th century **

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Downton Abbey_, nor do I have any deep knowledge of how to properly change dressings for burns.**

**Any Irish in this chapter is brought to you by GoogleTranslate**

**Enjoy~**

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Tom'd been gone for well over half an hour now, and overhead the sky was growing darker with each passing minute. Sybil was glad at least that Tom'd had the sense to take a lantern with him, but that did little to assuage the worry that nibbled at her nerves like a mouse at a piece of twine. What she needed was something to do, to keep her mind occupied so she wouldn't fret needlessly.

She'd already changed into her nightdress, the one that was the same light blue color that Mairead seemed to like so much. There was a simple pattern of flowers and leaves embroidered around the modest neckline, done in white and slightly darker cream-colored thread. It wasn't the silk or fine wool that Sybil had grown up wearing, but the fabric of the garment was soft and didn't chafe against her skin, which was hardly any reason to complain.

_What's taking so long? _Sybil wondered, completing her fifth lap around the room, twisting the tie of her dressing gown around her hands, and glancing at the kitchen every so often, as if her husband and Mairead would appear out of thin air. _It's not as if she ran all the way to the next county, though if she did, I'd be rather impressed. _

In the kitchen, Isibéal could be heard singing, her soft voice accompanied by the soft clink of ceramics and the rhythmic scrape of soft bristles as she washed the plates from dinner. There were no sounds that would indicate Tom's return, only the sound of Isibéal's voice as she sang under her breath, each song just as unfamiliar as the next to Sybil.

"_And come tell me, Sean O'Farrell, where the gatherin' is to be  
__At the old spot by the river, quite well known to you and me.  
__One more word for signal token, whistle out the marchin' tune,  
__With your pike 'pon your shoulder at the rising of-"_

The next words were impossible to hear as a shot rang out somewhere nearby, and Sybil's stomach dropped, twisting into knots until she felt she might retch if she wasn't careful. Almost immediately, Isibéal's singing stopped, so did the sounds of her cleaning, and her quick footsteps made their way to the door, with Sybil not too far behind.

"Not again," Isibéal muttered, staring out into the last moments of dusk, rubbing her face with a still-dripping hand as she turned away from the door.

"What do you mean, not again?" Sybil asked, panic edging into her voice. "Is Tom okay? Mairead?"

Isibéal shook her head, tossing a few fair strands loose. "I don't know."

_Dear God, let them be okay, both of them, _Sybil prayed, still standing in the doorframe, her eyes straining to catch a glimpse of Tom and his lantern.

As she stood watch, she remembered something Tom had told her before they'd come to Ireland, about how much she would enjoy it, the countryside especially. He'd said the countryside wasn't as full of chaos as the cities were, that everyone generally kept to their own and everything was relatively calm. It was almost as calm as the English countryside, he'd told her, though those hadn't been his exact words, she was certain of it.

"Isibéal," she said, glancing back into the kitchen long enough to see that the older woman had seated herself at the table with her arms folded in front of her, her dark hazel eyes fixed on the world just beyond Sybil's figure in the doorway. "I thought the countryside was supposed to be less…"

Violent? Chaotic? Frightening? Sybil couldn't find the word she wanted, the word that would be appropriate for her confusion.

"Frightening?" the other woman offered, shifting in her chair. "It's not the English countryside you're used to, that's for certain. Ever since the Rising...Ever since the Rising, though it did get better for a time, it's only gotten more like this I'm'fraid."

"What do you mean?" Already, Sybil knew she'd let herself be distracted for too long. For all she knew, she could've missed Tom's approach.

Isibéal rose from her seat to pull out a chair for Sybil. "Come sit and I'll do m'best to tell you," she said. "It won't do any of us any good t'worry by the door. Tom'll come, don't worry, and Mairead too."

Sybil hesitated before closing the door and making her way to the offered seat. "It won't, will it?" she mused, her worry quieting down, though it still nagged at her, ready to spring into action if anything happened that was not supposed to.

"No, it won't. Worry's in the air these days as it is. Ireland is pulling at her leash, and with good cause, don't let me lead y'astray there, but ev'ry so often y'hear 'bout a group of boys who've gone and tangled themselves with officers," Isibéal said, her lips set in a pensive line. "It surprises me that Tom didn't think t'tell you, though it was likely he didn't know enough to be sure, and both he and Sam liked to be sure."

"I can see why." Sybil couldn't help but let her attention dart to the door every so often, hoping it would soon open to reveal Tom and Mairead, both of them safe and sound, even though she knew it was rather impolite. "What do you think is taking them so long?"

"Let them take their time," Isibéal said, ducking her head to hide a laugh. "Tom wouldn't miss his wedding night for the world, if that's what has you really worried."

Sybil felt her cheeks flush, and she cast another glance at the door, hoping to hide her embarrassment. "It's not that I'm worried about," she said, a nervous laugh following her words.

"I was teasin', don't worry," Isibéal assured her, her smile broadening.

Sybil was taken aback by the sudden brightness in Isibéal's features- until now, the other woman hadn't smiled much, only small twists of the lip to assure the others that she was doing well. The other woman was so lovely when she smiled, a different kind of loveliness than what Sybil had witnessed during the dinner. This was a young girl on her wedding day, about to be married to a man who had fought to win her father's approval, bright-eyed and teasing, not the young widow with two children (one of which- little Erin- was the spitting image of her father, which added a deeper sadness to it) as the only reminders that she'd ever been married.

The door swung open, and both Isibéal and Sybil lept to their feet, almost toppling their chairs as they rushed to greet Tom and Mairead, and to make sure they were alright.

"Where were you?" Sybil asked, crossing her arms loosely across her chest, though she soon dropped them to her sides, realizing that there was really nothing for her to be upset about. If anything, she ought to be concerned.

What if one of them had been shot?

She focused her attention on Tom, trying to be as detailed as she could without being so detailed that she risked coming across as too worried or overprotective (_I'm concerned, _she told herself. _There's a difference_). His hair was ruffled, as if he'd gotten in a fight, though there were no bruises or scrapes to support that assumption. A thin sheen of sweat could be seen across his forehead and down his neck in the light of the kitchen, and his cheeks were a little pale, as if he wasn't feeling well.

"I'm fine, love," Tom assured her, closing the door behind him and bolting it shut.

"You look like you've seen a _bean sí*_," Isibéal commented, the brightness gone from her features almost entirely. "I'd go wash an' dress for bed if I were you. It'll do you some good, and Sybil and I'll take care of Mairead, don't you worry."

Mairead.  
How could she have forgotten Mairead?

The young woman's posture was more relaxed than Sybil had ever seen Mairead allow herself, even during the wedding, when her usually neutral expression had given way to a brighter countenance, just like Isibéal's had a few minutes ago. Sybil could see that Tom had a hand on Mairead's arm, holding her close with no clear intention of letting her go, not even now, when they were safely back in the cottage. Her skirt was wrinkled, with several light patches of dust and a few grass stains here and there, and her plait was close to coming undone. A few curls, already freed of their hairpin prisons, fell in her face, which like Tom's, was just beginning to regain its color.

"Isibéal, I can handle Mairead and Tom," Sybil said, forcing her voice to remain firm, even though her stomach had already sunk, the uneasy twist returning, and she could feel her hands tremble. _Steady on, _she thought, taking a deep breath and focusing on her hands, willing them to be still.

The other woman nodded. "If you insist," she said, her attention flicking to Tom and then Mairead before she turned to leave. "There should be bandages and whatever you need in the cupboard over there." She pointed to the cupboard that sat atop a weathered hutch, which didn't look as if it would be too difficult for Sybil to reach, thank goodness.

"Thanks," came Sybil's clipped reply, though Isibéal had already left, so she went to retrieve the box of supplies, setting it on the table before fixating her attention on Tom and Mairead. "Clothes off, both of you."

At nursing school, she'd learned that the first order of business was always to examine the patient's body as thoroughly as possible, so she knew exactly what she was dealing with before going to treat whatever wounds needed her attention. This meant she'd had to become comfortable first with the idea of someone else's body in a more or less undressed state, and second with the prospect of having to ask someone to take of their clothes so she could do her work. In more calm environments, Sybil found it was harder for her to get past the awkwardness of it all, but when in the wings of the Downton Village Hospital, where distress and urgency permeated the air, she was able to bypass the discomfort of it all and maintain a more professional air.

"Sybil, love, we're fine," Tom said, running his fingers through his hair, trying to flatten any stray pieces. His eyes met her own, and Sybil could see his jaw tighten, pressing his lips into a stubborn line. "There's no need-"

"Tom Branson, do as I say and take off your shirt or so help me God," she interrupted, placing her hands on her hips. "Mairead, you too."

"Yes m'lady," Mairead replied, easing herself out from under Tom's protective hold. Once she was free, she stumbled forward, and instinct urged Sybil forward to help steady her.

"Easy there," she said gently, helping the younger woman out of her jacket without bothering to correct her. She led Mairead to the table and sat her down, bending to help Mairead remove her blouse as well. "Are you hurt?"

Mairead shook her head, but Sybil decided it would be better to examine her regardless, though she resolved to keep it brief.

"Tom, you better be undressing," she said, shooting her husband a sideways glance as she finished checking Mairead over (at least until she'd finished with Tom and could make sure Mairead's hand was still doing fine). "Keep your trousers on, and just take off your shirt."

She would've noticed if he was limping, which would be a sure sign of a serious injury to either of his legs, so she let that fear die down. And besides, she wasn't quite ready to see her husband in his underwear until they could have a proper wedding night, which most certainly would not be tonight.

Tom let out a long, exaggerated sigh as he obliged, shedding his coat and undoing the buttons on his shirt in what seemed like the blink of an eye (_I'll be damned if all of the buttons are still on, _Sybil thought, somehow finding herself capable of such an out-of-place thought). "I'm fine," he insisted, folding his clothes and setting them on the table.

"Humor me then," said his wife as she searched his body for any sign of injury, touching him only to make sure nothing was broken. _So far so good, _she thought, her nerves calming, though she knew it wouldn't take much to fray them again. She recalled him telling her that he'd been deferred from military service because of a heart murmur (how the thought found its way to her head then, she would never know), and she felt something unpleasant inside her, like a violin string snapping."Now hold still and breathe normally."

"Yes ma'am," Tom said, letting Sybil place her ear against his chest, which was the best she could do without proper equipment, but as always, it was better than nothing.

Sybil listened to the sound of her husband's heart, straining to hear the added sound that had kept him from going to the front. She was acutely aware of the easy manner of his breaths, and her heart quickened with alarm before she was able to get it under control, reminding herself that Tom was not a soldier whose lungs were supposed to have been burnt by mustard gas or collapsed like William's had been by shrapnel. It was just that she wasn't used to having a patient (that's what Tom was right now, right? A patient?) with healthy lungs, she realized.

"Are you done yet?" Tom asked, glancing down at her (Sybil figured this only because she felt his body shift, not because she was actually looking). "Or have you fallen asleep?"

Sybil rolled her eyes. "Could you save the cheek for later?" she asked, lifting her head from his chest and flashing him a glare, so he'd know that she wasn't being playful. "Go upstairs if you're not going to be helpful, or stay down here and be quiet. Mairead's dressing needs to be changed before she goes to bed."

He took a step back, hands held up in surrender. "Apologies," he muttered, going to fetch his shirt from the table. His attention fixed on Mairead, and his expression softened. "_Bhfuil tú ag iarraidh codlata teacht le linn anocht? Tá mé cinnte nach mbeadh Sybil aigne.**_"

Mairead's eyes widened, and she nodded. "_Is ea le do thoil,_***" she said, clearly struggling to speak loud enough that her cousin heard her.

Sybil knit her brows, unsure about what she was supposed to make of the small exchange. She'd caught her name, and Mairead seemed to have answered affirmatively to whatever Tom asked, which was reason enough for her to let it slide. She'd get Tom to tell her what he'd said later, perhaps in the morning when this was all behind them.

In the meantime, she still had work to do. "Tom, can you get me a damp cloth?" She turned her attention to Mairead. "I've got to change the dressings," she explained, holding out her hand rather than taking Mairead's without permission.

"Here y'are," Tom said, handing Sybil the cloth and settling himself in a seat beside Mairead. He reached for Mairead's other hand and laced his fingers with hers, a gesture that Sybil noticed calmed the girl down a bit more, chasing a little bit more of the confused fear from her dark eyes.

Mairead placed her hand on Sybil's flat palm and watched as Sybil dampened the bandages from earlier before unwrapping them with practiced ease. She stayed silent as Sybil lifted her hand to the light, tilting it every which way with the utmost care, examining it from all possible angles.

"Blister's torn," Sybil noted, grimacing slightly as she dug through the box of supplies for the salve Isibéal had shown her earlier and some new bandages. She'd have to keep a closer eye on it now, to make sure it didn't get infected, though that meant keeping Mairead with her, at least for a week.

"Is that bad?" Tom asked, furrowing his brows.

"Only if it becomes infected," she answered, scooping salve onto her fingers and smearing it gently over the burn, doing her best not to tear the blister further. "I'd like to keep an eye on it myself, rather than trusting it to someone else, but if Mairead wants to go home- back to Downton, I mean- I won't fight her for it. I'll just write Anna and ask her to keep an eye on it for me."

Mairead clenched her jaw, and Tom gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "I can manage myself," she said through clenched teeth.

"No you can't," Sybil was quick to say, rewrapping the girl's hand, careful not to pull the bandages too tight.

"I'll find a way." She looked to Tom, most likely hoping for support from her cousin.

But Tom only shook his head. "I've got to take Sybil's side in this," he said. "I'd like it if you'd stay with us at least for a week, regardless of your burn. We can telephone Downton in the morning, let them know you won't be back for another week. I'm sure Mrs. Hughes will understand."

Sybil smiled at her husband's statement. "So it's settled. You're staying with us for another week, no fussing," she said, letting Mairead withdraw her hand and then turning her attention to Tom. "Looks like our wedding night'll have to wait after all."

He shrugged. "It's as I said, love, I'd wait forever."

Now, she allowed herself a cheeky grin. "A week will do," she replied, standing. "Until then, I suggest we turn in for the night, especially after the day we've had."

* * *

***banshee: is a female spirit in Irish mythology, usually seen as an omen of death and a messenger from the underworld. (source: wiki/Banshee)  
******Do you want to come sleep with us tonight? I'm sure Sybil wouldn't mind.  
*******Yes please**

**A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, even if it was a bit long. As per usual, please leave a ****review if you have a moment. It would be very appreciated. **

**Thank you~**


	31. Interruptions

**A/N: So here's Chapter 31! **

**You guys are amazing, and shoutout to crystabelshalott for reading bits and pieces, and also for the amazing edit she did for Patch of Clover. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own _Downton Abbey._**

**Enjoy~**

* * *

_Perhaps this will be a proper wedding night after all_, Sybil mused as Tom slid into bed next to her after he'd extinguished the lamp on his side of the bed.

"Are you still awake, love?" he whispered, and Sybil felt the mattress shift as he rolled onto his side, facing her.

She inched closer to her husband, until her body was tucked neatly against his, her head resting right at the curve of his neck. "Yes," she answered, smiling contentedly as he placed his arm around her, holding her close. "Though I'm so exhausted, you'd think we were still at war and I was still a nurse at Downton."

"So no...er…um...So you don't want to…?"

Sybil giggled at Tom's stammering. "I'm not _that _exhausted," she assured him, though she wasn't quite sure if that was true. The day's events- James Walsh's behavior at dinner (he reminded her frighteningly of Larry Gray, who had become similarly belligerent now that he was older), Mrs. Hayes's arrival and the state that put Mairead in, and the panic that had only died down a few minutes ago- had worn her out, that much was true, but that didn't mean she would miss out on the chance to be intimate with Tom after five long years of waiting.

"That's not an answer," he murmured, bending to kiss the bridge of her nose, a quick, teasing kiss. "Don't I deserve a straight answer? Only Mary talks like that. I didn't marry her by accident, did I?"

"Oh you'd know," Sybil quipped, "and for that, Tom Branson, my answer is no."

"Sybil, love, I was only teasing!"

Sybil pulled away from his grasp and rolled over so she was facing away from him. "Ask me when you've decided to behave yourself," she told him. "And not a moment before."

She heard Tom mutter something in Gaelic that she could only assume from his tone to be something to do with how frustrating she was being, followed by, in English, "You'd think after all the waiting we've done, you'd be less stubborn."

"Waiting makes a thing more sweet, patience is a virtue, now let me sleep," she murmured, her eyelids growing heavy as she spoke, exhaustion finally setting in, and she let it take her, dragging her down for a few brief seconds before she heard someone- Mairead?- cry out.

* * *

_She was sitting on a wall, her skirt hiked up in front and left to fall like a peacock's tail behind her. The air around her was mild and still, save for the odd breeze that bent the tall grasses against her stockings before helping them up again. _

"_Aren't you glad to be back?" Sam asked, vaulting over the wall with practiced ease and sitting next to her. _

"_I suppose so," she answered, able to picture him clearly enough that she didn't have to look at him. _

_Darker brown eyes than hers (their father's eyes, she recalled, dredging up an old memory of her father's face), hair combed just like Tom's, and more brown than red, though she knew there were still traces of red in the summertime, when the sun brought out the warmer, brighter colors. His lips would be set in a gentle, thoughtful smile, and his head would be inclined slightly towards her, so they could whisper back and forth with ease. _

"_Ireland's changing," He placed a hand on her shoulder and directed her attention up the road, where she saw two- no, three-men coming towards them. As the men drew nearer, Sam raised his hand in greeting, and hopped off the wall. "Are you coming?" he asked, holding out a hand to her. _

_Even though she accepted his hand, she couldn't help but ask: "Where?"_

_The approaching men were hardly two yards away, but still she couldn't discern their features well enough to know exactly who made up their number. A few more feet, and she was able to pick out Henry Connolly, more broad-shouldered than she remembered him being, though there was no mistaking him, while the man to his left was a stranger, and the man to his right felt only vaguely familiar. _

_Could it be…? _

"_No," she whispered, turning away. "Sam, what is he doing here?" _

_She felt her brother's hand slip away, and when she finally dared to look and see if he was there, all she saw was her brother lying on the ground, two bullet holes- one just to the left of his heart, and another farther down his abdomen- pouring blood onto the dusty road. "Sam?!" She dropped to her knees beside him, the three men forgotten. "Sam, please." _

"_It'll be alright, Mairead...it'll...be…" _

"_Sam!" _

_A strong hand grasped her shoulder and hauled her to her feet, and the first chance she got, she bolted down the road, reaching a line of trees, but not daring to stop. They were behind her, pursuing her deeper and deeper into the wood, each step of the way unfamiliar to her, but she pressed on nonetheless. She knew she couldn't run forever- she was hardly built for speed or stamina- but she hoped Henry Connolly and his fellows would tire before she did, so at least then she would be assured an eventual reprieve. _

_It wasn't long before her burning lungs and protesting muscles forced her to slow down, stumbling to a stop and collapsing against a tree, and trying her best to catch her breath as quickly as possible before she would have to get up and run again. She couldn't hear any telltale sounds of pursuit, though for all she knew, they could be closing in on her or taking aim from the brush._

* * *

How Mairead managed not to wake the entire house, Tom would never know.

Kieran, he knew could sleep like a corpse, same went for his parents, though with Mairead next door, he didn't see how her cries hadn't woken them. Isibéal was no doubt sleeping just as soundly, tucked away in the attic with her children, Daniel and Erin, worn out from the emotional stress that had borne down on her during the day. Had he been present, Sam would've jumped at the first noise of distress he heard coming from his sister, regardless of how tired he was, and Tom would usually follow suit.

As he neared the guest bedroom where Mairead was sleeping, Tom could hear her crying out, most of her words unintelligible, but he could clearly hear her calling for Sam, the distress in her voice almost too painful to bear.

With a firm grip on the doorknob, Tom opened the door to her room and slid through the opening, leaving it open so that light could come in through the crack. He took long, quiet strides towards her, unsure about whether or not it would be wiser for him to sit beside her on the bed, or for him to pull a chair up to her bedside and wait there.

Mairead lay on her back, the side of her face pressed firmly into the pillow, and Tom could see that her braid was beginning to come undone again and that entire locks of hair were sticking to her neck and brow. She would occasionally roll onto her side, then fall back onto the mattress, her eyes squeezing shut as if she was in pain. The blankets that he'd pulled over her shoulders earlier that evening had been kicked down around her knees, and her nightdress was pushed up just above her knees.

"Sam, please," she cried, reaching out to grasp the empty air in front of her. "Sam!"

Without thinking, Tom rushed to her side, taking her hand and guiding it gently towards her body. "It's okay," he murmured, pulling the blankets back over her before sitting on the bed, careful not to make any movements that might startle her. "You're okay, _a stóirín. _You're okay."

"S-s-sam."

He brushed the hair from her face, ignoring the way his chest tightened at the sound of her voice, the way she spoke her brother's name as if she was being forced to watch him die at the hands of whatever British officer had decided that Sam Hayes was "probably a rebel." Part of him wanted to know what was haunting her so, that she was screaming in the middle of the night, when normally she would be sleeping soundly, worn out from working from sunrise until well past sunset.

Was it the encounter at the wall that had brought this on? Or was there something else that was forcing his cousin to suffer like this? Was he right in thinking that there was something more to what she'd told him about her time in Manchester?

_Now's not the time, _he told himself. _Now, she needs you to be there when she wakes up. You can wonder later, but for now, just be there. _

"Ssh, it's okay. I'm here, and I'm not going to let anyone hurt you, that's a promise."

"Sam," she said again, her eyes open and staring blankly into the half-dark of her room. "Sam, don't let them….Sam? Where are you? Sam?"

Tom heard her breaths become more quick and short, as if she wasn't getting enough oxygen, and panic seized him. What was he supposed to do? He knew he had to calm her down, but weren't you not supposed to wake people from nightmares like this?

"You need to slow her breathing," Sybil said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It might mean you wake her, but at this point, I think she'd welcome it."

Tom nodded and shook Mairead gently with one hand, his other still holding on to her hand. "Mairead, wake up," he said, deciding to raise his voice enough that she could hear him.

She sat up, and her breaths became more distinct, their uneven quickness more evident. "Sam. Where's Sam?"

"Mairead, you had a nightmare," Tom said, placing her hand on his chest so she could feel his breathing and try to match it. "It's okay. You're safe, but you need to calm down."

"But Sam…"

"Mairead, you need to breathe with me," he said, placing his other hand at the base of her neck, keeping Mairead's attention forward.

She nodded, and he heard her take a long, shaky breath.

"There you go. That's it." He scooted closer to her so she could rest her head on his chest, and so he could make sure her breathing settled down. "Nice and long...that's a good girl."

"I'll get a glass of water," Sybil said, less as a suggestion and more as a statement. "Tom, make sure she stays calm. I shouldn't be long."

He nodded, listening to her go rather than watching her exit the room and head to the kitchen. "That's it," he told Mairead as her breathing became more steady, each breath matching his almost perfectly.

"I was out by the wall," she said. "Sam was there too. There were three other boys. Henry Connolly I recognized, but the two others...I wasn't sure. I thought…"

"It's okay," he was quick to assure her, kissing the top of her head. "I don't need to know who they are. You're safe now. That's what matters."

"They shot him. They shot Sam." Her voice broke, and she buried her face in Tom's shoulder, her breaths becoming more rapid once more.

"Mairead. Mairead, listen to me. You need to calm down. Nothing's going to hurt you. You're safe. I've got you. I swear I won't let anyone hurt you."

Tom knew such a promise wasn't within his ability to keep, but he knew that he would move mountains for Mairead, and the same for Sybil. They were his family, and he would protect them down to his last breath, he knew that much.

"You're safe now, I promise." He cradled her close, remarking on how slight she was in comparison, almost a child in size, though there were only fourteen or so years between them. "I've got you, and I won't let anything hurt you. It's okay to be scared, but you're not alone. Sybil and I love you more than anything in the world, and we'll always be by your side, no matter what."

* * *

**A/N: And on that note, thank you for reading! Please leave a review, let me know how I'm doing, and if there is any historical knowledge you wish to impart upon me for this piece, you are more than welcome to PM me or leave it in reviews. **

**Thank you~**


	32. Telephone for Mrs Hughes

"Mrs. Hughes, telephone," Mr. Carson said, pushing the door to the housekeeper's sitting room open and leaning over the threshold.

Elsie looked up from the rota she'd been reviewing, trying to make sure everything was in order, that half-days were properly accounted for and the like. Had she heard correctly? "A call for me, Mr. Carson? From who?" She couldn't imagine who would call her, unless perhaps something had happened to her sister and she was needed immediately.

"Were you expecting anyone in particular?" the butler asked, furrowing those thick brows of his.

She shook her head. "No," she answered, feeling a fool for working herself up over something that could easily be nothing. "I wasn't."

His brows parted, the furrows in his brow filled out, and he nodded. "Well, now that we've straightened that out, might I suggest that you go take the call, before Lady Sybil thinks even you've snubbed her."

What had she done to receive a call from the youngest Crawley sister, who, according to Anna, had been happily married just yesterday? Hopefully everything was alright, though Elsie didn't see why it wouldn't be. Tom Branson had made it clear that he had every intention of cherishing Lady Sybil, even if he couldn't give her the life she'd grown up expecting.

_She never expected that, even you saw it, _Elsie thought as she made her way down the hall to Mr. Carson's pantry. _She may be English, but only by half, and it doesn't help that her mother owes her fortune to a self-made American._

"Good morning, m'lady," she said, the telephone held awkwardly in her hands. "Is everything alright?"

"Everything's fine, Mrs. Hughes," the young woman assured her. "I was wondering if I could ask you for a favor."

"I can certainly do my best, m'lady," the housekeeper answered, knitting her brows together, wondering what she was agreeing to. "What is it you need?"

"I was wondering if you could give Mairead the week off. If that's too long, then just until— Kieran, what's today? Wednesday?— until… Monday, perhaps?"

"May I ask why?"

Elsie hadn't taken issue with Mairead's request to take a day or two off work so the young woman could attend her cousin's wedding or some kind of similar event in Ireland, primarily because it was only reasonable that the girl be allowed time with her family. Mairead rarely took her half-days as it was, and even when she did, she only left for a couple of hours and came got straight back to work. She had at least a solid month's worth of half-days that she hadn't spent, which was odd, Elsie thought. Most of the maids (and the footmen, for that matter) took full advantage of their half-days, for better or for worse.

But that didn't answer the question of what Lady Sybil had to do with Mairead's request (why hadn't the girl called herself, Elsie hadn't the faintest idea).

The coincidence of Mairead's trip with Lady Sybil's wedding could simply be a matter of chance, and perhaps Mairead had gone to wish the newlyweds well while she was nearby.

However, from what Elsie had observed in the years that Mairead had been under her watch, the young Irishwoman didn't seem the well-wishing type. True, she was friendly enough that the housekeeper didn't worry, but she had a coldness to her, as if she was deliberately putting distance between her and others, and that was what had Elsie worried. It reminded her too much of how Thomas had acted when he came to Downton, and the last thing Elsie wanted was to have another like Mrs. O'Brien and Thomas on her plate.

Mairead wasn't completely without friends though, Elsie realized. Anna had somehow managed to coax the young woman into something that resembled friendly conversation every now and then, and even though Elsie wasn't surprised, this soothed her worry enough that she didn't concern herself with it too much. The girl had seemed fond of Jane too, a shame really, since the older woman had left Downton not long after the hysteria caused by the Spanish flu had passed through. Those two had gotten along well, despite the differences between their ages and circumstances, and Mairead had seemed genuinely happy (or at least something close to that) under Jane's wing.

"Are you still there Mrs. Hughes?"

Elsie shook her head, blinking rapidly as she dragged herself back to the present. _You're still too young to go drifting like that, Elsie, _she chided herself, adjusting her hold on the telephone. "Forgive me m'lady. I let my mind wander a little too far afield, I'm afraid. Would you mind repeating yourself?"

"Of course not," Sybil said, and Elsie could hear the kind smile in her voice. "I was just explaining that Tom and I would like to spend some more time with Mairead, and I'm sure you can spare her at least until Monday."

Elsie pressed her lips together, thinking. She wasn't so short on staff that she would have to refuse Lady Sybil's request, but the maids weren't exactly present in full force either. It was a tricky situation indeed, one of the few that she had yet to encounter in her career, but she would meet this challenge as she had all others, there was no questioning that.

"I don't think I understand, m'lady. If you or Mr. Branson were relations of Mairead's, I might, but otherwise, I don't think I can allow it."

It was a hard thing to do, to deny such a request of Lady Sybil, especially when the proposed return date was Anna's half-day, and Elsie knew she'd be spending it in York, which meant that Mairead wouldn't have to return to Downton by herself. Yet she'd done it anyways, her practical brain taking over and pushing the maternal one aside.

"Tom's her cousin," Sybil said, hardly skipping a beat.

"I mean no disrespect, Your Ladyship, but from what I've been hearing these past three years, Mr. Branson is a family friend of Mairead's, not her cousin. Am I to take it that she's been lying to me all this time?"

After a pause that seemed to last at least half a minute, Sybil spoke: "I'm not sure, but if you'd like, I could speak with her about it."

"No need m'lady," Elsie said, shaking her head. She'd deal with it herself, though not immediately. She would wait, and the right time would present itself eventually. "Mairead can stay with you, I suppose. But only until Monday. I can't spare her past then."

"Thank you Mrs. Hughes," Sybil said. "I promise she'll be on the first ferry Monday morning."

"Tell her to take the train to York," Elsie said. "I think Anna is planning to spend her day there Monday, and that way Mairead won't have to make the entire trip on her own."

"Of course. Thank you, Mrs. Hughes."

"You're welcome, m'lady."

And with that, the housekeeper hung up, turning away from the telephone and surveying Mr. Carson's pantry, as if searching for something.

Was she searching for something?

Yes, she supposed, in a way, though she knew she wouldn't find it here. She'd have to wait until Mairead returned, then she'd be likely to find it, she was certain.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for reading, and if you have a chance, please leave a review, let me know what you liked, what you didn't like, etc. Doesn't take long, and means a lot. **

**Thanks~**


	33. Nothing for Certain

**A/N: Yes, maybe I am stalling so we don't ever have to see Sybil die. Maybe I'm not. Who knows? **

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Downton Abbey_**

**Enjoy~**

* * *

"It's settled," Sybil announced as she entered the cottage. "Mairead's staying with us through Monday. Mrs. Hughes wants her to-"

"I've given my answer, and I'm not going to change it," Tom said, his voice interrupting Sybil from the kitchen. "And you're not dragging Mairead into this either."

Sybil took a breath before making her way towards the kitchen, careful to keep her steps as quiet as she could, so Tom and whoever he was talking to wouldn't hear her approach.

"Y'sure Tommy? All o'her geese've joined up- those who didn't die in the Rising or the war, that is," said a male voice.

"I won't let her, I don't care what she says otherwise," came Tom's firm reply. "Her brother died because of all this, didn't y'know that?"

Pride welled in Sybil's chest at her husband's words. Between last night and now, she knew how deeply he cared for his cousin, how much he wanted to keep her safe, and Sybil knew this was the kind of man she admired, and she was glad she could call him her husband. It was easy to see him saying the same for their children when the time came, and Sybil knew it would, sooner rather than later, unfortunately, but she was able to rest assured in the fact that Tom would defend her and their children as he did Mairead.

"Aye, we do, but that's more a reason for her to join up, innit?" a second voice asked

"So she can get shot like her brother too? You're out of your mind, Ryan- you and Christopher both. Now get going, if you'd be so kind."

"I wish you'd reconsider, Tommy," the first voice said, his tone casual enough that Sybil saw no need for alarm. "We'd love to have y'with us- jus'like the old days."

"If I do, you'll be the first to know," Tom assured the speaker. "But 'til then, my answer's the same."

"We'll tell the others you weren't home if they ask, give y'some time."

"Much appreciated," Tom said, his voice bordering on an impatient growl. "And use the front door, for Christ's sake. Y'nearly gave Isibéal a heart attack, and if my mam catches y'coming and goin' like theives, she'll likely beat you over the head with something."

Both of the men laughed, though Sybil couldn't tell if it was uncomfortable laughter or sincere; there hadn't been any humor in Tom's tone, despite his words.

"Of course, our apologies."

Sybil watched as two young men- younger than Tom by at least a year, she determined- exited the kitchen, passing her and nodding her way in greeting.

"Good mornin', miss," the taller of the two said, and Sybil recognized him as the one who'd asked Tom to reconsider.

"Good morning," she said, offering them a kind smile and trying to ignore the unease that prickled in her stomach.

He was handsome enough, she supposed, with sandy hair that resisted any attempt at being brushed down completely flat, merry light brown eyes, and boyishly freckled cheeks. He was the same height as his dark-haired companion, whose features were more somber and therefore led Sybil to believe he was the older of the two.

Tom followed, and his eyes widened when he caught sight of Sybil. "Ryan! Christopher!" he barked, not only startling the young men, but Sybil as well. "I thought I asked you to leave?"

"Forgive us for wishin' a lady good mornin'," the sandy-haired one said, holding up his hands in surrender. "Christopher and I'll go, let you have some peace then. Good day."

Tom didn't return the farewell, and he followed them all the way to the door, seemingly unaware of Sybil's presence. As he slid the bolt home behind the young men and began to make his way towards where Sybil stood, Sybil could see Tom was visibly more relaxed than he had been seconds ago, though there was no mistaking the worry in his eyes or the tightness in his jaw.

"What was that?" she asked, following him into the kitchen (he hadn't, in fact, been heading towards her, she realized).

He didn't answer her, not until he'd poured a glass of what she could only guess to be some kind of liquor, and proceeded to the sitting room with Sybil trailing behind him. "Christ," he muttered before taking a long sip from the glass, nearly emptying it halfway.

"Tom," Sybil said, sitting down next to him on the decently-upholstered couch and reaching for his hand. "What was that about, darling?"

He raised the glass to his lips, and he very well could've finished off the glass if Sybil hadn't wrenched it from him. "Nothing love," he said, rubbing his eyes.

"No, it wasn't nothing." Her voice was firm, as if she was disciplining a child, but there was still that tinge of worry to it. "Who were those boys?"

"Christopher Moran and Ryan Murray. Friends of mine," he answered, managing to glare at her as he set the glass just out of his reach. "Now can I finish my drink?"

"No," Sybil said, pushing the glass a little farther from his reach. "But you can tell me what they were talking about and what Mairead has to do with it, then perhaps you can."

Tom pressed his lips together, his expression nothing short of miffed. "They wanted to see if Mairead or I'd be willing to join them in helping drive out the British," he said, reaching to rub his eyes again, as if he was tired, though Sybil saw worry in his expression, not exhaustion. "I didn't expect it to be like this. True, I knew it wouldn't all be perfect after the Rising, but from what I've heard and seen, and what those two just confirmed, it seems like this place is more dangerous than I left it."

"What do you mean?"

"At the wedding, some of my old friends mentioned that there's groups attacking RIC barracks in parts of the country, here an' there, y'know, and that's only half of it, I suppose. When I went to get Mairead last night, we heard some folks coming and hid behind the wall. Don't ask me why, I don't know."

"Tom, you know I won't question you," she said, placing her other hand on the side of his face and lifting it so he was looking at her. "You wanted to protect Mairead, and that to me is the most admirable. Last night, what you did was beyond admirable- all of it. With Mrs. Hayes, at the wall, when she had the nightmare...I know I have no right to say it, but I know Sam would be proud."

"You're right, he would," Tom said slowly, placing his hand over hers. "But I'm not sure even he knew what Ireland's become, and lately I've found myself envying him. As far as he knows, Ireland's about to be liberated from the British, and this time they've got the arms and men needed to see it through."

"They didn't, did they?"

Sybil's knowledge of the Easter Rising was still limited to what had made it into the papers back home, which was to say it was very limited and heavily biased. She knew it'd lasted for several days, that the leaders proclaimed an Irish Republic, a good portion of Dublin had been shelled by British forces trying to get the "insurgents" (as the papers had called them) to surrender, and surrender had come fairly quickly. She also knew that it wasn't just men doing the fighting- there'd been women too, led by Countess Markievicz, who sounded like Queen Boadicea, from what Tom had recounted to her. In short, the Rising had failed, and Ireland remained part of England.

"No. The English intercepted the German ship- the _Aud, _I think it was called- and the fellow meeting them was caught, tried, and hung. The fighters in Dublin never got the message that the risings were on hold- it was supposed to happen all over Ireland, you know. There was at least a small group in every county, enough to make a significant bit of trouble, all ready to move the second we got arms."

"We?"

Had Tom been involved too, even though he was at Downton when it happened?

Surely not. Surely, he was speaking for the Irish, his countrymen, the same way Sybil had when she'd so carelessly said "I know we haven't been at our best," speaking for England as a whole.

"Sam and I were part of the group that led it," he told her, his eyes lowered. "But he got married and left for Isibéal and little Daniel, and I came to work at Downton."

"Would you've fought?" she asked, curious. "If you stayed, I mean."

"I'm not sure," he said, biting his lip. "Perhaps, but I don't think violence is the answer to anything, not unless you're threatened with violence first."

"And that," Sybil said, lifting Tom's head once more so they were seeing eye-to-eye, "is what sets you above the rest, Tom Branson."

"Is it?" He furrowed his brow.

"Yes, and I wish Papa could see that," she said, giving him a peck on the lips. "Speaking of which, Mairead's going to be staying with us until Monday. I promised Mrs. Hughes I'd have her on the first ferry to Liverpool, but at least we get her for a few more days."

"I told you she'd listen to you," he said, a weak smile appearing at the corners of his mouth. "I'm just worried, if it's escalating as quickly as Christopher and Ryan say it is, I don't want her here when all hell breaks lose."

"She'll be fine, I'm sure. She's more capable than you think, I'm sure," Sybil assured him, placing an arm around Tom's shoulder and pulling him close. "And you know she'd have your head if you mothered her- you told me yourself."

"But sometimes I wish I could, even just a little."

Sybil smiled, and nodded in agreement. "It's a bit far-fetched, but couldn't we adopt her? Maybe not officially, but…you know. We could ask her to come live with us, and when we have children, she could help that way, and maybe she'd find something else to do when our children are grown."

"Maybe," Tom said with a half-hearted smile. "She needs someone to look out for her, that's for sure. She shouldn't be growing up like this- no child should. Erin and Daniel...this is the world they'll grow up in, a country on the brink of war with itself, and God knows Isibéal won't be able to protect them forever."

"Isibéal's stronger than you give her credit for. Most women are," Sybil said. "And Mairead too."

"Sybil, you saw her last night!"

Sybil thought back to last night, trying to figure out if Tom meant the state Mairead had been in when Tom had returned after having fetched her, or when she'd been having the nightmare. She'd been shocked to see a young woman who was always so firm and independent become so fragile in a matter of hours without much explanation. Well, there was some explanation, but Sybil didn't know what it was. Had it been something Mrs. Hayes'd brought up that dealt the final blow to Mairead?

It made sense that any remarks about Sam would've gotten under Mairead's skin, especially after what James Walsh had said, but what was so significant about Manchester that it seemed to have the same effect? Sybil knew that was where Mairead worked before Downton, but truthfully, that was all she knew for certain.

"What happened in Manchester, Tom?" she asked. "I know she worked there before Downton, but when Mrs. Hayes came, it made me think there was more to it."

Tom pulled away from Sybil, leaning forward with his arms folded across his legs, and the corners of his lips turned down in a tight grimace. "I don't know," he said, his gaze wandering to the glass which Sybil had just about forgotten until now.

"Yes you do." Sybil could tell he was lying, even it was only a small white lie she was being told. "Something happened to her, Tom, I know you can see it too. And don't tell me it was her mother, because it can't be that entirely."

"Sybil, love, please, not now," Tom snapped, the sudden change in tone catching her off-guard. "Yes, I know, but it's not something I'm going t'share, unless Mairead says I can. I won't betray her trust. If I do, I lose her, do y'understand? I lose her, and she'll be on her own. She'll look at me the same way she looks at her mother, and she'll likely get herself killed because she'll think she's got nothing left to lose."

"Tom," she said, placing a hand on her husband's shoulder, acutely aware of the rigidity she could feel in his posture. "She'll be fine. She hasn't a single reason to think she's alone, and you won't lose her, I promise you."

"Can you? Promise me that I won't lose her? Nothing's certain anymore, Sybil, and it's best you don't go making promises you don't know you can keep." He let out a long sigh, and shrugged off Sybil's hand as he rose to his feet, bending to take the glass from where Sybil'd placed it.

"Tom," she said, but there wasn't anymore she could say to him, and she didn't bother to fight him when he took the glass.

"I'm going t'go see if the motor needs fixing," he told her, downing the remaining contents of the glass before turning to leave.

* * *

**A/N: Well...there really isn't anything to say, unless someone wants to volunteer to wrap Tom and Mairead in a blanket and protect them from the world. **

**I jest. **

**They can take care of themselves, I think. **

**Anyways, thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Reviews are welcome and encouraged, as always, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter. **


	34. Daniel and Erin

**A/N: Here's chapter 34! Thank you again to crystabelshalott for putting up with my constant fretting, and thank you to Google Translate and not enough sleep for Mairead's nickname for Daniel. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Downton Abbey_, and all Irish is courtesy of GoogleTranslate. **

**Enjoy~**

* * *

"Daniel, come back here!" Mairead called, doing her best to chase after the young boy without upsetting Erin, who had finally stopped squirming and was now resting with her chin on Mairead's shoulder, occasionally pulling on the sleeve of the young woman's jacket and making soft squealing noises, but otherwise quiet. "Daniel!"

She'd offered to take Daniel and Erin for the morning so Isibéal could have some time to herself, not to mention it meant she would get to spend time with her niece and nephew before she left for England again. They spent the morning in the village, playing in the square and enjoying the beginning of what looked like a warmer day than what Mairead remembered as being normal for the beginning of summer in these parts, and there was nothing to cause her any worry. The village seemed to be the only part of Ireland that hadn't changed in her absence, and that was enough to reassure her that things were alright, at least for now.

_If only you could grow up in the same Ireland I did, _Mairead had thought as she'd watched Daniel show his sister an abandoned bird's nest (Erin was, as most three-year-olds are, uninterested, and decided to uproot the grass around her with surprising vigor). _You have no idea how much I wish that for you both. _

And as they were beginning to return to Aunt Moira's, light grey clouds filled the sky, but Mairead didn't see any reason to worry about it raining- Yorkshire had made her grow accustomed to cloudy skies, and it was much the same climate here as it was back at Downton. She was more concerned about the almost-five-year-old who seemed determined to outpace her, for what reason, she'd never know.

"Daniel, I'm going to ask one more time, then I'm telling your ma you didn't listen to your aunt."

It was strange, to be calling herself that. Never in all her life did Mairead think she'd ever have such a title, nor did she think her nephew would be such a handful (Erin was blessedly easy, though Mairead knew it was all to do with the girl's age). She was admittedly fond of her brother's beautiful children- Daniel, who took after both his parents in equal regard, with his mother's pale blond hair and Sam's thoughtful brown eyes, and Erin, who was her father to the letter. The resemblance between Erin and Sam was enough that Mairead swore, if Sam had been a girl, this would be what he looked like, and though Erin was young and had yet to lose her toddler's softness, there were hints of Sam's handsome features in nearly every aspect of his daughter.

"Daniel!" she called again, stopping to catch her breath and reposition Erin, who made a sound like a cat mewling in protest.

This time, her nephew slowed down, shuffling a couple feet down the central road before coming to a complete stop and glancing back at her. "Hurry up then, y'slow poke!" he replied, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

"What're we going t'do about your brother, Erin?" Mairead muttered, lengthening her strides so she was able to catch up with him relatively quickly. "We'll have t'keep a good eye on him, that's what."

"Ma," Erin said, wriggling in Mairead's hold, pushing with her small hands on Mairead's collarbones. "Ma!"

"We'll be seein' your ma soon, don't worry," she assured the toddler as she finally caught up to Daniel. "Take my hand, Daniel. There's cars 'long these roads nowadays."

"Cars?" Erin looked at her, dark eyes wide.

"Yes Erin, cars. Motors. Back when I was a little girl there were horses pullin' carts. Cars were only in the cities, but now more folk have 'em here. Not many, but more."

"Uncle Kieran drives a motor," remarked Daniel, kicking a stray pebble into the ditch on the side of the road.

"That he does, and so does your Uncle Tom."

"Do you think he can teach me? I want t'be able t'drive like he does!"

Mairead laughed. "And someday you will, lad, though I know your ma won't want it to be anytime soon," she said, smiling down at him, her attention taken from the road long enough that she collided with someone, nearly dropping Erin as she attempted to steady herself and keep a hold on both of Isibéal's children at the same time.

"Apologies, miss," said a voice with such a distinct lilt that, even in her startled state after not having heard the voice in years, Mairead was able to name its owner quite confidently.

"Christopher Moran!" she exclaimed, bouncing Erin on her hip to quiet the toddler down. Once Erin quieted down, Mairead knelt in front of Daniel, setting her goddaughter carefully in the grass, so she was between the toddler and the ditch, and got to work helping the five-year-old get the dust off his trousers and coat.

The voice and the long, almost spidery fingers ("A piano-player's fingers," Christopher had told her when she was a little girl) that helped Mairead to her feet once she was satisfied with the state of Daniel's trousers and jacket were unmistakably Christopher Moran's. What wasn't familiar was the dark mop of curls that crowned his head, which was at least five inches above her own. She remembered Christopher's hair as always being neatly combed and brushed, the curls tamed with a wet comb, and, even though he was at least thirteen years her senior, they'd always been the same height. Now his hair curled like a lamb's coat, and he was taller (granted, she'd stopped growing earlier than most, and both her parents were on the shorter side of things).

Dark eyes darted up and down the length of her body, and Mairead couldn't help but feel the slightest bit uncomfortable with the obviousness of his appraisal.

"God Almighty," Christopher breathed, taking off his cap and running a hand through his hair. "Mairead Hayes. Never thought I'd see you 'round these parts again, and looking lovely as spring too."

"Oh please," she said, rolling her eyes. "Y'can't almost push me into a ditch an' expect me t'be flirtin' with ya the next second. It doesn't- Daniel, keep an eye on your sister! Christ…"

"Who's the father?" Christopher asked, watching Mairead hurry to scoop Erin up before the toddler peered too far over the edge of the ditch. "Must be very brave, t'have married you."

"They're Isibéal's children" -_Sam's children_\- "not mine, and don't you go talkin' like you're so fine a catch yourself."

"Well that makes two of us, don't it?" he asked, slipping his hands into his trouser pockets. "So what've you been about as of late? You seem like the sort of lass who would end up at university. Is that what you've been doing then, studying things like hist'ry and law?"

"Not sure where that idea's from," she said, glancing up the road, where she saw a lanky, fair-haired young man heading their way.

"Mmm. What've you been doin' then?" He followed her line of sight, and a grin spread itself across his lips, and he raised his hand in greeting. "That'd be Ryan Murray. You remember him, don'tcha?" Christopher asked, still watching the approaching figure.

Mairead pressed her lips together and furrowed her brows, trying to recall more than the young man's name, which certainly was familiar. "Not well, no," she admitted, drawing Daniel closer to her side.

"Aunt May," the boy whined, squirming away.

"Mairead," Christopher corrected, his tone seeming to take on a coldness all of a sudden as he fixed Daniel with a reproachful stare. "Come on lad, say it with me. Mawr-aid."

"Mary-ead, actually," Mairead said, returning Christopher's look. "That's how everyone at work calls me, and m'mum called me much the same."

"Aye, but your mam went English, and what does she know 'bout Irish names?"

"You're forgettin' she's Irish and raised here too."

"An Irish woman"- his emphasis on the two words as being separate was very clear- "who serves an Englishman and his family."

"Would you rather she serve an English family livin' here, or an English family livin' 'cross the sea, who never did nothing to us?"

The Downings had never made any scathing remarks about Mairead, Will, and their mother's nationality, nor had any of the servants. At Downton, the story had been slightly different, but that was in the countryside, where you didn't run into as many Irishmen as you did in Manchester, which had been a bustling industrial center since the mid-eighteen-hundreds. The Crawleys' only issue with the Irish had been Tom, it seemed, and his determination to marry Sybil, and the business with General Strutt, unfortunately, had earned Mairead's cousin a questionable reputation among the staff.

"I'd rather neither," was Christopher's answer. "So, what trade did y'end up followin'? Shopkeepin'? Teachin'? Midwifery? T'be honest y'don't seem like the midwife sort."

"Good, 'cause I didn't go into neither of those trades," Mairead replied, gathering Daniel close and repositioning Erin on her hip as Ryan approached.

"Finally find someone who wants to marry you, Christopher?" Ryan asked, clapping the taller gentleman on the shoulder. "She's pretty, I'll give y'that, but she's got babes of her own, by the looks of things."

"Ryan, for Christ's sake, it's Mairead! And those aren't hers. They're Isibéal's- Sam Hayes is their da."

"Are they really?" Ryan asked, stepping closer to inspect Daniel and Erin.

"Not so close!" Mairead hissed, taking a step away from Ryan.

"Easy there," he said, holding his hands up in surrender and taking a few steps back. "I'm not gonna hurt them or nothin'. Jesus woman!"

"Well I'm sorry for wantin' t'keep my sister-in-law's children in one piece," she replied. "We ought t'be gettin' home, so if you'll excuse me."

"If you'd answer m'question," Christopher said. "I hate t'be left hangin' like this, you know that."

She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders back. "I've been working as a housemaid in Yorkshire, for the Earl of Grantham," she told them. "Now if you'd be so kind t'let me go on my way…"

"I take it you won't be fightin' then?" Ryan asked. "Seein' as you wait on th'English, and keep them comfy an' all."

"Fighting?"

"Yeah. Fightin' th'English so they get themselves out of our country. Ev'ry last one of the bastards- out."

"Watch your mouth, Ryan Murray," Christopher snapped, cuffing the younger boy upside the head. "You're speakin' to a lady. Show some manners, for Christ's sake."

Mairead stiffened at Ryan's words, and her stomach twisted into a knot. "I'm not gonna fight. If anything I'll be stayin' out of it all," she told them, attempting to steer Daniel around Ryan.

The fair-haired young man moved to cut her off, his movement too quick for Mairead to stop herself or divert her course. "You're lettin' Sam go down in history a rebel, when he could easily be a martyr," he said. "Don't you think his babes deserve that much? T'know their father was a hero of their country?"

His closeness made the knot in her stomach tighten, and she could feel her hands becoming slick with sweat. "They deserve t'grow up in an Ireland where they don't fear for their lives," she seethed, hoping he would do the decent thing and lay off. "Is that too much t'ask?"

"Ryan." Christopher placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. "Let 'er be."

"Are y'listening to a word she's said Christopher? She's sayin' we shouldn't be fightin' for our rights! Didn't Ireland give thousands of lives so small nations like us can be free?" He shook off Christopher's hand and shot the other young man a poisonous glare. "She's a traitor to her country, her cousin too."

"I am not!" She didn't believe what she was hearing, and if she hadn't had Daniel and Erin with her right then she would've given Ryan Murray a piece of her mind. "And neither is Tom."

"If she doesn't want in, she doesn't want in. Simple as that," Christopher said, sighing. "Don't harass her 'bout it, else she'll rat y'out if she gets the chance."

"Ma! Ma!" Erin cried, no longer content for Mairead to be standing still. "I wan Ma."

"I know, love, I know," Mairead murmured into the toddler's reddish curls as she bounced Erin on her hip. "We'll see your ma soon, promise."

"Ma."

"I know." Mairead fixed her attention on Christopher and Ryan, glancing at Daniel out of the corner of her eye before addressing the two older men. "It was lovely seein' y'two, but we've really best be going, before Erin starts cryin'."

"Of course," Christopher said. "It was lovely seein' y'Mairead. Take care, won'tcha?"

"Likewise, Christopher," she said, giving a curt nod to both of the young men.

"Tell your cousin he'd best keep a lookout too, can ya? His wife is lovely, and I'm 'fraid some of the local boys might try t'steal her if he doesn't keep a keen eye."

"I'll be sure t'do that," she said, shouldering past Ryan, tightening her grip on Daniel's hand as she did so, so the five year old wouldn't bolt ahead this time.

Mairead didn't look back- she didn't dare to- and she kept her pace casual and ambling, as if nothing was wrong.

She'd given Tom and Sybil enough of a fright last night, and she didn't see any fairness in doing it again. She hardly had any right to anyways, since Tom wasn't hers anymore. He'd never been hers in the first place, come to think of it, and Sybil was his wife now. If anything, she deserved all of Tom's attention, not Mairead, who could very well get by on her own.

"Come 'long now Daniel," she said when her nephew stopped to inspect a small pile of pebbles by the side of the road. "You ma's goin' t'be waitin' for us, and y'know if we don't come when we said we would she'll be worried."

"Ma worries too much then," Daniel replied, blowing a strand of hair out of his eyes. "It ain't'asif anythin's gonna happen to us."

"Y'don't know that, _beag a reithe_*," she said, finally daring to look over her shoulder. Christopher and Ryan had disappeared from where they'd stopped her, hopefully gone down the road, away from Aunt Moira's cottage, which had to be where they'd come from. Mairead made a note to ask Tom about it later, when things quieted down.

"Well if it does, no one's touchin' Ma or baby Erin without havin' t'go through me first," he stated, his chest puffing out a little.

"That's m'boy."

_Sam would be so proud, _Mairead thought. _At five, most boys wouldn't care less, but Daniel knows that the world is changing, and he's got to change with it...I only hope it changes for better._

* * *

***little ram**

**A/N: Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter! A heads up, there's only going to be one and half more chapters before Mairead goes back to Downton, so have no fear, we will be getting back to Yorkshire soon! **

**Please leave a review if you have the time, it would be very much appreciated. **

**Thank you~**


	35. Children Will Listen

**A/N: So here's another chapter! **

**Disclaimer: I do not _Downton Abbey_**

**Disclaimer Part Two: Mairead's route to Phoenix Park (as well as the location of the bus stop) was mapped using Google Maps, so the streets I used may or may not have ****existed in 1919 Dublin. I'm pretty sure most of the mentioned establishments do, though. **

**Enjoy~**

* * *

The day before Mairead was due to return to Downton, Tom announced that they would go spend the day in Dublin.

"I want to take a look at the flat, make sure everything's still in order," he explained as they waited for the bus that was to take them into the city. "And that way we can show Sybil around, let her get to know the area and look to see if there's any hospitals looking for nurses."

It wasn't a bad idea, especially after Mairead concluded that she would go insane if she spent one more day away from Downton. She appreciated the reprieve, that went without saying, but she needed to do something with her hands, and Aunt Moira's cottage rarely left pristine condition (even with Daniel and Erin on the loose), so there wasn't much for Mairead to clean like she did at Downton. Tom could laugh at her all he liked, and Sybil would often try to find solutions to Mairead's restlessness (usually a walk down to the village to run errands, or a round of this or that parlor game), but nothing had enough of a lasting effect to satisfy her.

And so the decision was made to include Mairead in their outing, and Mairead thanked Heaven for it. She hadn't been to Dublin in years, and she wanted to see if it'd changed as much as she reckoned it had, after the war and the Rising.

"We'll go to Phoenix Park first, then find somewhere for luncheon, and take a peek at the flat before we head back," Tom said as he helped first Sybil, then Mairead, disembark, his attention fixed on each of them until the soles of their shoes were firmly on the pavement. Immediately, he looped his arm through Sybil's, his fingers intertwining with hers as he pulled her close. "How does that sound?"

"Perfect," Sybil said, beaming, practically glowing at her husband's side.

"Mairead?"

"Sounds good," she said, reaching to adjust her hat (it was the same straw one she'd had for years now, though she'd changed the usual stormy-grey ribbon for a white one, for Tom and Sybil's wedding), and letting her hands rest at her sides. "Are we going or not?"

Mairead knew her way to Phoenix Park from where the bus had dropped them on Patrick Street well enough that she could've gone ahead on her own and waited for Tom and Sybil to catch up, and perhaps that was what she'd do. She didn't need to be with them at all times- she wasn't a child who needed constant supervision, and they weren't in need of a chaperone- and she wanted some time to herself to just look out over the River Liffey and reacquaint herself with the city.

Already, she was becoming acutely aware of everything around her, her lungs filling with damp air that smelled vaguely of wet stone, the thousands of people who lived here, and the smoky exhaust from passing motors. She heard the bells of St. Patrick's Cathedral chime the quarter-hour as pedestrians passed by, speaking with quicker, more noticeable lilts than Mairead's own, though Mairead had the excuse of having lived in England, where she'd learned to minimize the difference between her accent and those of her colleagues' voices. It was comforting, in a way, to become completely lost in old, familiar things. It made her feel as if nothing had changed, that everything was as it should be.

"'Course we are, Mairead," Tom said, "but give Sybil a moment. She's not from here, remember. Let her look around a bit."

"Can I go on ahead then? I know the way just fine," she said, already taking a couple of steps towards her destination.

"I'd rather if you stayed with us." Then, after some hesitation: "Please."

She stopped mid-stride and turned on the ball of her foot, a quick, practiced movement that made the skirt of her dark grey wool skirt rustle the slightest bit. "I know the way, Tom," she told him, pressing her lips into a stubborn line. "You and Sam both taught me how t'get from this very bus stop t'Phoenix Park, and t'every other place of importance in this city. I could do it blindfolded if I wanted."

"I'm not worried 'bout you gettin' lost, Mairead," her cousin said, leading Sybil towards where Mairead stood, his brow already creased in frustration.

"Then what are y'worryin' 'bout?"

"I think Tom wants to spend time with you before you go," Sybil said, the glow in her cheeks dimming, though the usual brightness in her eyes remained. " I want to spend time with you before you go too, though that should hardly matter to you, what I want. You've done so much for us already, Mairead. Please, just walk with us. You can show us the way, tell us whatever stories there are about these places."

"Tom can tell you, can't he?" Mairead asked, desperate to be left at peace. Was it so wrong to want some time to herself? She'd spent every day since the wedding with her cousins, and while she didn't object to their company, it wasn't something she was used to, and she wanted some time to herself, even if it was just the time it took her to walk from the bus stop to the park.

Sybil opened her mouth, then closed it, her gaze dropping to the pavement beneath her feet. Mairead could see her take a deep breath, the kind that read "Dear God, give me patience" to the young woman. "He can, you're right," she said, a strained smile following her words. "I don't mind if you want to go ahead, and you must be eager to see the city again."

Tom cast a worried look at his wife, his brows drawn together and the corners of his lips turned down ever so slightly. "Are you alright, love?" he asked, his attention flickering to Mairead, and then back to his wife.

"I'm fine," she assured him, shaking her head. "Let Mairead go on ahead if she likes, Tom."

"Are you sure?"

She nodded. "Yes, I am. That way it'll be the two of us, and we won't slow Mairead down."

"Thank you," Mairead said, flashing a tight-lipped smile at Sybil and Tom. "I'll meet you at the Wellington Testimonial, yeah?"

"Sure." Tom fixed Mairead with a look her father might've given her if he'd lived to see the point in her life when young men started showing interest in her. "Wellington Testimonial, and not a step further. No talking to strangers, and if something seems off to you, you run, understand?"

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at her cousin's words. _He's worried about you, _she reminded herself. _This isn't the Dublin you played in as a child, and you're no longer a child yourself. You're a stranger here, more a stranger than Tom is, and Tom just wants you to be safe, you know he does. He doesn't mean any harm by it, and you know he'll blame himself if something happened to you. _

Still, she didn't see what gave Tom the right to treat her like this, like she lacked the common sense usually attributed to near-adults such as herself. She'd known since she was little not to talk to strangers, and if she absolutely had to, she was to leave herself and her family out of the conversation as much as possible, preferably not at all. She knew that men posed more of a threat to her than women, though she shouldn't ever think of it that way, rather think of all strangers as small threats, or at least things to be wary of. She knew to steer clear of trouble, and not to do anything that might make her _look _like trouble in the slightest- she didn't want to end up like Sam.

"Mairead, do y'understand? No further than Wellington Testimonial, no-"

"Talking t'strangers, and at the first sign of trouble, I run," she finished for him, crossing her arms across her chest and straightening her posture. "I know, Tom. Any other common sense y'think I've forgotten?"

It was unnecessary for her to say such a thing, especially in such a sharp tone, but how else would she convey to Tom that she was not a child in need of constant reminders like this? She was nineteen- not old enough to have children of her own, maybe, but certainly old enough that she didn't need to be treated like one- and she knew Sam would agree with her when she said this was all unnecessary.

_This is not Sam's Ireland. He never knew this place. _

"No," he said, his tone falling flat. "_Beidh muid labhairt seo níos déanaí, a bhean óg._*"

"At the Wellington Testimonial then," she said, turning and taking long quick strides towards the River Liffey, not daring to slow down until she'd put some distance between her and her cousin and his wife.

* * *

"At the Wellington Testimonial then."

With that, Tom watched as Mairead turned on the ball of her foot, such a quick, precise movement, he wondered where she'd picked it up. Perhaps from her mother, or perhaps from a particularly enraged Mrs. Hughes, though Tom doubted his cousin looked to the Scottish woman as a role model of any sort.

"God almighty," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

Why was she so stubborn all of a sudden? She'd been nothing but docile since the wedding night (granted, she'd been in what Tom could only think to classify as "distress" that night), if a bit restless, so why the sudden change?

Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that she was going back to Downton on the first ferry tomorrow, and she was preparing herself to go back to work, though what her stubbornness had to do with it, Tom wasn't sure. He'd already seen her becoming more restrained as the days passed- she was always doing something to help, she spoke less and less at meals, and just now, she hadn't even considered taking his hand when they alighted to the pavement of Patrick Street, though such an action was to be expected of a child of nine, not a young woman of nineteen.

"_I'm not a child." _

Those words rung in his mind, stinging even though Mairead hadn't said them since her mother had showed up at the wedding dinner. Tom knew she wasn't a child, but to him, Mairead would always be the little girl he and Sam had helped take care of, even though the age gap between Mairead and Tom was too great for them to be as close as Sam was with Kieran, but too small for Tom to have the authority over her that a father might. He was doing his best not to "mother her," as he'd warned Sybil not to do, but was it so wrong that he wanted to look after her as a parent might?

It wasn't as if she'd had a proper upbringing in the first place (as Tom's mother never failed to point out), and maybe that was why she acted this way, so insistent on her independence and determined to define herself as anything but a child. None of it made sense to Tom, and he failed to see how she could react so violently to any show of concern. True, he'd told Sybil that this wasn't something out of a novel- and it wasn't, he was sure there were others in similar positions- but it didn't make sense that his cousin would balk at the slightest hint that he was concerned for her, when she ought to behave otherwise.

England had changed her, he realized. It was the only possible explanation for the stark contrasts between the young Mairead he'd left in Ireland, the Mairead he'd seen hard at work at Downton, and the Mairead who came to his wedding. As a child, she'd been calmer than most, but still with the unwavering trust and innocence of a child, which matured into occasionally bitter optimism when she was thirteen. At Downton, that optimism seemed gone entirely, and her calmness was replaced with stoicism, especially after Sam's death, and Tom had been tempted to raise the issue with Mrs. Hughes on several occasions, though he knew Mairead wouldn't thank him for it.

"She'll be alright, I'm sure," Sybil said, interrupting his whirlwind thoughts. "You shouldn't worry over her. Can't you see she doesn't like it?"

Yes, he did see; Mairead made it more than clear that she didn't like his worrying, clearer than it needed to be, perhaps.

"I know, but-"

"It's like you have her on a leash, Tom, and while I understand completely that you want nothing more than to keep her safe, you're pulling too tight, so to speak," she said as they started down the street. "It's hurting her, and the only way she knows how to respond is to be hurtful back, which isn't good for either of you, and you know it."

It was true, Tom realized.

He always feared losing Mairead, in all senses of loss- the loss of his relationship with her, the trust they held between them, and even the loss of her presence from his life entirely, whether that be because she would decide to estrange herself from him or because of her death- and losing her would be as painful as (God forbid) losing Sybil in a similar way. Did Mairead fear the same thing? Perhaps, and Tom had seen it when his cousin had been pulled into his affair with Sybil, reluctant at first, though she did as he asked without ratting the unlikely pair out to anyone.

"Is Mairead unkind to you, Sybil?"

His wife furrowed her brows, and Tom felt her step falter beside him. "She's been nothing but kind," she said. "I don't know why you would think she hasn't taken kindly to me. She stood up to her mother for me, when she could've turned the other way. You said yourself that she must be fond of me then."

"She was being polite," Tom was quick to say. "For the sake of the wedding and for me. Was she ever unkind to you before we were married? When we eloped? What about then?"

Sybil's eyes widened, and her lips formed a surprised "o," as if Tom had just proposed something utterly ridiculous, like attending dinner in his underthings or declaring war on Germany again. "Tom! I'm surprised you would think such things about Mairead! She's a darling girl, especially given her circumstances, and I couldn't possibly imagine her being capable of any unkindness."

"If you insist."

"And I do." She fixed him with a firm stare, its severity astonishing to Tom, who didn't think Sybil capable of such an expression. "I would never lie about someone's character, Tom, you know that."

* * *

As expected, Mairead made it to Phoenix Park before Tom and Sybil, keeping a brisk pace and pausing for only a few minutes along the Liffey to let the wind off the river weave its way through her hair and slip down the back of her dress. It was something she'd experienced as a young girl, though she'd felt it differently then. Then, the smell of the sea hadn't been so sweet, and the wind hadn't felt like the gentle trail of a lover's finger down her spine.

_Look at you, getting all romantic about a river, _she thought, a private, bitter smile finding its way to her lips. _It's nothing special. Best be getting along, so Tom doesn't worry. _

She took the route Sam had taught her, the one that went across the Liffey and past the Four Courts, past an old friary, all the way to King Street.

_North_ King Street.

The street where her world had changed forever on April twenty-fourth, three years ago, in 1916.

The street where Isibéal had become a widow.

The street where Sam had been shot and left to die, all because he "was probably a rebel."

She was walking down North King Street, walking perhaps, as Sam had, the day he died.

The second she realized this, Mairead's gait faltered, and she felt as if she was going to fall. Her heart began to imitate her quick walk from earlier, hammering quickly in her chest, and she struggled to keep her breaths even. Her eyes darted up and down the street, and she wondered if the three officers she spotted had seen her and if any of them were the one who pulled the trigger with Sam in the crosshairs.

She made it to the intersection of King and Queen Street before she completely lost her grip on reason, and her heart slowed to a walk as she continued down Queen Street, onto Blackhall Street, where she turned herself towards the Liffey when she reached the building she knew belonged to the Law Society of Ireland, and continued along Wolfe Tone Quay. It was here she prayed that Tom wasn't worrying because she wasn't at the Wellington Testimonial yet; it was about ten minutes away if she walked, maybe seven or eight if she really ran, so she didn't see any reason to worry. She'd make it in time.

And indeed she did.

It was another five minutes before Tom and Sybil arrived at the obelisk, which she'd learned was the tallest in all of Europe, and Mairead hoped Tom would be satisfied that she was sitting on the steps leading up to the structure, undisturbed by any of the other visitors to the park.

"Sybil, might Mairead and I have a moment?" Tom asked, placing a hand on Mairead's shoulder.

She didn't flinch at his touch, and she didn't let her body give under the slight pressure either. His words from earlier echoed in her memory. He wanted to talk, didn't he? But why, when there was nothing to talk about?

Sybil gave Mairead a reassuring look, and turned to giver her husband a blithe smile. "Of course," she said. "I won't go far...probably just around the other side."

"We shouldn't be long," Tom promised, watching as Sybil hurried off before sitting on the steps next to Mairead, taking his hand from her shoulder and placing it on the stone behind him, so he could lean back a little, letting what sunlight managed to filter through the thin veil of clouds overhead find its way to his chest.

"How was your walk here?" Mairead asked, still sitting with her face forward, and her hands clasped neatly in her lap. "You must've taken the long way."

"No, you took Sam's shortcut," he said, and Mairead could see a smile play across his lips. "The one that goes up to-"

"King Street, yeah," she said flatly, looking away so perhaps he wouldn't see the tears pricking at the corners of her eyes, tears she'd held back as she made her way down that cursed street. "What is it you want to talk to me about?"

"I wanted t'talk to you about Sybil."

"What about her?"

"Why do you dislike her so much?"

"I do not!" Mairead exclaimed, her head snapping towards Tom so she could fix him with narrowed eyes. "What makes y'think that?"

"It's the only way t'explain your behavior as of late," Tom said. "You're jealous of her, of us, aren't you?"

Was she jealous of Tom and Sybil?

Maybe, but she had every right to be.

They had what she could've had with Nathaniel, if he'd been patient and if God had been willing. For Tom and Sybil, everything had worked out just perfectly in the end, even with a greater age gap between the two and much more for Sybil to lose if anything went wrong. There was an unfairness to it, a great unfairness, that Mairead bear the suffering she did and get nothing out of it, while Tom got his wildest dream.

If God had let things work out differently with her and Nathaniel, perhaps...no, she couldn't think of it that way. It would only drive her mad if she did. What happened between them happened because she hadn't been firm enough in deterring him. It was her own fault, that's what it was. Not an act of God, for once in her life. She wouldn't think of it like that. God didn't do those things to people, regardless of what they'd done.

"Tom, I'm not jealous. If anything, I'm happy for you. I wish I could find someone I love as much as you love Sybil and marry them."

"Why don't you then?" he asked. "Leave service, and find a job elsewhere. Remember when you used to talk about being a writer? That could happen y'know. It's a new world, _a stóirín, _and it's your generation's for the choosing."

"That's horribly optimistic of you," she said, laughing at his words. Imagine her, a writer! A well-dressed journalist, poet, or novelist, paid to sit around and write! That was rich indeed. "And wouldn't I be safer in service? That way you wouldn't be worrying after me all the time."

"I don't worry after you."

"What y'said at Patrick Street? If that wasn't worryin' I don't know what is, Tom."

He looked about to say something in response- insist he was not, in fact, worrying over her- but that look vanished soon enough. "Fine. You've got me," he said. "I was worried. I am worried, but have you been payin' attention since the wedding? This isn't the Ireland you remember, Mairead! You remember that night at the wall as well as I do, so you'll agree when I say there's a storm coming, and I don't want you caught up in it."

"You needn't worry 'bout me, Tom. I've told you that. Worry about your darling Sybil instead. I can manage on my own just fine, she can't, and you've more to lose with her than with me. I'll be gone in less than a day, and I'll be Mrs. Hughes's t'worry after."

"Mairead, please-"

"No, Tom. I can manage, I promise," she said, trying to contain the simmering rage she felt in her chest.

No. "Rage" wasn't quite the word for it, though it was somewhere close to that. Humiliation? Maybe. Yes, that was what it was, some strange crossbreed of rage and humiliation, just like what she'd felt Christmas Eve of 1915, only there wasn't fear to accompany it. Only those two emotions, so closely related, yet entirely different.

"Mairead-"

"I'll meet you at the Patrick Street stop at quarter to three. I'll be careful I promise...I just need the rest of the day to myself." And with that, Mairead rose to her feet, gave a brief nod to Sybil, and picked her way down the steps of the Wellington Testimonial, not quite sure of where she was headed- perhaps back to the bank of the Liffey, to watch the gulls come in from the sea, like she'd done as a child. Anywhere but here, at least for now.

* * *

*******We'll talk about this later, young lady**

**A/N: Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Reviews are much appreciated, and I hope you won't hunt me down for any feels inflicted by this chapter. **

**Thank you~**


	36. Worlds Apart

**A/N: Here's Chapter 36, or "In Which the Train Route was Determined Using Google Maps" **

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Downton Abbey_, nor do I know the precise details of a train route from Liverpool to York, nor am I Catholic with any idea on how confession dialogues would actually happen. You have been warned. **

**Enjoy~**

* * *

Mairead left first thing in the morning, before the sun had even risen. Thank God that Kieran was an early riser like herself, and also for his silence when she asked to leave without waking Tom and Sybil.

She left notes on the kitchen table, one for each of her relatives, bidding them farewell and thanking Aunt Moira and Uncle Laddie for their hospitality. She wished Tom and Sybil all the best, and promised Isibéal that she would try to visit more in the future, God willing.

The ride to the docks was a quiet one. Mairead pretended to be asleep, while Kieran pretended to be fixated on the road ahead. Once they reached the point of departure, Kieran gave her a quick, chaste kiss on the cheek, a "good luck" and "God bless you," and watched her board the ferry bound for Liverpool.

* * *

Tom woke to the sound of a car motor, a slightly sputtering motor, which he recognized, even in his half-awake state, as belonging to Kieran's car, an older model than the Crawley's Renault ("The Mr. Levy of motors," Kieran called his car, his chest puffed out in pride and lips turned up in an impish grin). What was Kieran doing with the car running at this hour? Tom was determined to find out the answer to this question.

Beside him, Sybil was still asleep, her dark hair easing out of its tight plait, and her small body cocooned in the bedsheets. It took every ounce of stealth for Tom to get out of bed without waking her (she rolled over once and murmured something that sounded vaguely like "Granny thinks she's so clever, doesn't she?" followed by "why is Isis inheriting the estate instead of Cousin Matthew?" and it took all of Tom's restraint not to laugh) and go to put his dressing gown on before heading downstairs.

* * *

She found a place on the ferry easily enough, and settled down with the book she'd bought yesterday in Dublin. Her stomach growled, and she made a note to get something to eat once she got to Liverpool, because anything she ate now was guaranteed to make a reappearance later. She could do without food for a couple more hours, especially with the current contents of her stomach rocking back and forth with the waves and making the mere thought of food completely unappetizing.

After several unsuccessful attempts at making any progress with her book, Mairead ventured out onto the deck, checking first to make sure her hat was securely pinned to her hair so she wouldn't have to worry about losing it to the wind. There would be time to read later on the trip from Dublin to Liverpool, and also on the train from Liverpool to York. She knew that on the train ride from York to Ripon, she would be expected to engage in polite conversation with Mrs. Bates, which she didn't mind, because, well, it was Mrs. Bates, who was never anything but kind and polite to everyone.

_Goodbye Tom. _

The coast of Ireland faded into the distance, swallowed by the sea-mist like a castle from a fairytale, but Mairead kept her eyes fixed on the sea-mist, even after the coastline had disappeared. The cool air was thick with the taste of salt, and the gentle lap of the waves was almost enough to lull her to sleep where she stood at the rail.

* * *

The sputtering of the car motor had stopped by the time Tom reached the kitchen, where he found a collection of letters, each with a different name written in a script that was so careful it could only be Mairead's, laid out neatly on the kitchen table. He knew it could only mean one thing, that she'd gone ahead and left, and no doubt the noise from earlier was Kieran driving her to the docks to board her ferry home, but he read the note nonetheless.

_Tom- I wish you and Sybil all the best in the future, and may God bless you with all the happiness you deserve. - Mairead _

No doubt her letter to Sybil said much the same thing, though perhaps in a less bitter tone than the one that filled her letter to him.

"Tom?"

He looked up from the piece of paper to see Sybil standing in the doorway, her dressing gown tied at the waist over her nightdress and her small, bare feet planted firmly on the ground. "Good morning," he said, slipping Mairead's note into his dressing gown pocket. "Did you sleep well, love?"

Sybil moved towards him, until she was toe-to-toe with him. "Where's Mairead?"

"Probably on her way to Liverpool by now," he answered, pulling his wife into a gentle embrace, his eyes fixed on the door over her shoulder, as if Mairead would walk back in and declare she was staying with them for good.

* * *

Once in Liverpool, Mairead made her way to the train station, careful not to let herself get tossed about by the crowds that milled about the dock, dockworkers mixing with families come to greet the other passengers swarming around the ferry, as if it was the _Titanic _about to set sail and not your run-of-the-mill ferry.

Thank God that the station wasn't far away enough that a cab would be absolutely necessary. If she wanted something to eat, Mairead couldn't possibly afford that and the fare from the docks to the station.

_You shouldn't've bought that book in Dublin, that's what you shouldn't've done, _she thought, glancing at her valise, where the book- _The Allegory of Love*****_\- was stowed alongside her copy of Oscar Wilde's _The Picture of Dorian Grey _(which, because of the nature of the author's...preferences, spent most of its time hidden in the back of her valise under her bed at Downton, where Mr. Carson would certainly be unable to find it, and Mrs. Hughes wouldn't go poking around). _It's a wonder you managed to have money left for your train and boat fare! You're lucky you didn't have to pay your bus fare yesterday, then you'd really be in a spot of trouble, wouldn't you?_

* * *

Breakfast in the Branson home had followed a distinct course every day since the wedding.

Tom's mother made toast from one of the many loaves she'd prepared the night before with help from the other young women of the house, while Sybil finished off the eggs they'd bought on Saturday from one of the Bransons' many neighbors. Tom's father got a fire going in the hearth so Isibéal could set a kettle to boil for tea. Tom himself would be laying the table with Mairead, unless she'd found other small tasks with which to occupy herself, and when that was done, while they waited for the kettle to come to a boil, Isibéal, Tom, and Mairead would play with Daniel and Erin.

Of course today, Mairead's absence disrupted that routine, but they made do with one less hand (two, if they counted Kieran, who had yet to return from Dublin, though he rarely helped with breakfast in the first place). The missing member of the family went unremarked upon by all but Erin and Daniel, who wondered where their Aunt May was and why she hadn't said goodbye, and when would she be coming back.

Sybil looked to Tom, and the children's gazes followed, so there were three pairs of darker eyes watching him as he set the plates down.

They were expecting an answer, he realized, an answer he couldn't give them.

He didn't know when Mairead would be back, or if she'd ever set foot in Ireland again after the falling out they'd had yesterday. He didn't know if she'd write to him anymore, or what it would mean when she returned to Downton.

"Tom?"

"Sorry," he said, shaking his head and tearing his attention from the table, which was completely set.

"Is everything alright, Tom?" Sybil asked, abandoning Daniel and Erin to come place a hand on Tom's shoulder. "You've been distant all morning. Is something bothering you?"

He shook his head again. "It's nothing, love," he assured her, his eyes darting along the table as he pretended to be checking that everything was in order, anything to avoid being caught in his lie by his wife.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I am," he said, gently shrugging her hand off his shoulder. "I just need some air."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

There was hurt in Sybil's voice, a quiet, timid hurt, not the violent hurt that reminded him of Mairead. They were two different kinds of hurt, but the combination of regret, sadness, and self-hatred that Tom felt twisting his stomach into a knot was the same.

For the third time, he shook his head. "I won't be long." He bit his lip. "I just need some time t'myself, t'think things over."

* * *

Just as she'd done on the ferry from Dublin to Liverpool, Mairead spent the train ride to York in silence, at least once she'd negotiated her way through the carriage to a vacant seat by the window.

She fell asleep to the back-and-forth rattle of the carriage, her shoulder pressed up against the fogged-over window and her hands in her lap, the sleeve of her coat riding up a bit to reveal the raw pink patch of still-healing skin that stretched across the outside of her left hand. Her sleep was a dreamless one, filled only with the sounds of the whistle at each stop and the sound of passengers coming and going.

She woke up as the train was leaving Manchester, and she knew she was halfway to her destination, so there wasn't any real sense in going back to sleep, not with another hour or so to go. She'd passed this way three years ago, coming from Manchester to work at Downton, and neither the countryside nor she had changed much since, though she was older, and wiser too, all because of Manchester and what happened there, all because of Nathaniel Downing.

_Don't you dare go thinking about him, _she chided herself, her lips pressing together into a slight frown. _He's not part of your life anymore. Not him and not Manchester. Nothing happened there that should bother you here. Your life is at Downton now._

* * *

There were still bits of morning fog clinging to the road as Tom set out towards the village. It would all be gone soon, swept away by the wind, though the dampness he remembered from his childhood would still linger, and the sun would hide behind wispy grey clouds like a shy child hiding behind its mother's skirts.

He could've taken his mother's bicycle if he wanted, and he knew it would've made his journey much quicker than if he walked, but he didn't want to keep his mother from running any errands, or deprive Sybil of the freedom she'd recently found in learning to ride a bicycle. Besides, he didn't mind the walk- he'd always walked to church in the village as a boy, so why not do so now? He wasn't that good of a cyclist anyway, and he was likely to end up overturned on the side of the road before he'd even gone twenty feet, especially if he was horribly out of practice like he suspected he'd be after getting pretty much everywhere by car or on foot for the past few years.

Mairead, on the other hand, could probably fly up and down the road if she had a bicycle. She would outpace him without even having to try, and Tom knew she would've taken up the challenge when she was younger and still innocent of the world.

_Stop that, _he thought, slowing his pace to take in the half-familiar scenery of his little corner of County Wicklow, the mountains in the distance, and the sea he knew was just opposite the proud peaks of the Wicklow Mountains. _She wouldn't've stayed innocent of the world forever, and you know it. People grow up- it's what they do and what they've been doing for as long as there's been people on this planet. You can't wish for her to be innocent forever- imagine what that'd do to her!_

* * *

She met Mrs. Bates at a tearoom in York, hardly a two minute walk from the station.

"How was your trip back?" the older woman asked, tilting her head to the side a little and offering Mairead a kind smile.

"It was uneventful, thank you," was Mairead's response as she returned her superior's smile with a polite nod, still holding tightly to the handle of her valise, her feet flat on the ground. "I hope I didn't cause too much trouble by being gone for as long as I was."

"Don't worry about that, Mairead," Mrs. Bates said, shaking her head. "How was your family?"

"Well, thank you." The mention of her family made her stomach prickle, and she felt it twist into a loose knot when she thought back to the previous day, at the Wellington Testimonial. "How is Mr. Bates?"

She knew His Lordship's former valet was in prison, and she left it at that really. It wasn't her business, though she couldn't help it if it was all the other maids wanted to talk about for the weeks following his arrest. It troubled Mrs. Bates enough that the older woman was noticeably less cheerful as the news spread in the form of gossip throughout the downstairs, but she'd managed to pull through, and for that, Mairead admired her greatly.

"He's doing well enough, though they've yet to chose a day for the trial." The brightness left Mrs. Bates's expression for only a moment, like an electric light being flicked off then on again. "How are Branson and Lady Sybil? I suppose you enjoyed being able to spend time with them."

"I did, yes," she said, pressing her lips together. The lie came so easily, but it twisted her stomach further, and her cheeks burned with shame. Hadn't she given up lying? Or was that just about certain things? "They're well, I suppose. They were still sleeping when I left- I didn't want t'wake them."

"Did you have a falling out?" Mrs. Bates's brow furrowed, and her expression shifted into one that Mairead could only think of being one of maternal concern.

"Oh no," Mairead was quick to say.

Another lie.

Mrs. Bates only nodded. "If I'm not mistaken, I'd say that Branson loves you very much, Mairead, and you've got to remember to forgive people the things they do out of love, so they can better forgive themselves."

* * *

"Welcome my son."

Tom made the Sign of the Cross, as he'd been taught to do in times like these. "Bless me father, for I have sinned," he said, searching through his memory for the script he had so carefully memorized.

"When was your last confession, my son?" Father Francis asked from the other side of the screen.

"My last confession was in February of 1918."

He couldn't remember exactly what he'd confessed, though he had a feeling that he'd given into the shame of being reprimanded by Mr. Carson for trying to dump that wretched slop on General Strutt, and that had been included in his list of transgressions.

"And why do you come now, over a year later?"

_Because I have lost the one person in this world I cherish as much as my wife, all because I was careless and didn't listen to reason, _he thought, but he didn't speak, not for some time. For something so simple, it weighed on him- it weighed on his soul.

"I have acted in a way that has hurt someone very dear to me," he finally said, his chest tightening. _No, this is all wrong. It's supposed to feel lighter, speaking your sin in confession, isn't it? _

"Have you asked for their forgiveness?"

"She left this morning, before anyone else in the house was awake, and I do not know when I'll be seeing her again." _If I'll be seeing her at all. _

"I see," Father Francis said. "For penance, you are to say the rosary in the mornings and evenings for a month. I absolve you of your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Go in peace to love and serve the Lord."

"Amen," Tom whispered, bowing his head and making the Sign of the Cross one more time before exiting the confessional and starting on his way back home.

* * *

Mairead was glad to be back at Downton, though she kept it to herself as she answered everyone's questions. Yes, she did have a nice time in Ireland, no, she didn't have a sweetheart in Dublin (the only part of Ireland that really existed to the people here, it seemed- all the rest was just untamed wilderness, or not even there in the first place)- those sorts of questions.

She was glad that Mrs. Hughes insisted on her retiring for the night, on account of her long journey, even though it wasn't that late by Mairead's standards. Anything to get away from the prying questions of the other housemaids, or the serpentine glances that she felt Mr. Barrow giving her when she and Mrs. Bates returned. She could always take some mending up with her and do it by candlelight, that way she wouldn't fall behind, at least not by too much (this plan ended up being thwarted by Mrs. Bates, who reinforced Mrs. Hughes's orders with gentle sternness).

As much as she was at loathe to disclose it, Mairead was thoroughly worn out from her day of travel to the point that she fell asleep within minutes of pulling the covers of her bed over her shoulders, feeling as if she was being rocked back and forth by the waves of the Irish Sea, even though that part of her life was far behind her now.

* * *

"You seem to be in better spirits," Sybil commented from where she sat slouched against the headboard of the bed, the blankets pulled as far as they could be, so they covered everything beneath her breasts.

Tom managed to smile as got into bed beside her, extinguishing the lamp on his side before sliding a hand behind his wife and pulling her down to where he lay, his head on the pillow. "I'm glad you think so," he said, most of the melancholy gone from his voice as he guided Sybil's head to rest on his chest, her ear pressed to his heart. "I think a walk was really what I needed."

"More like a trek to the next county!" she teased, lifting her head to press her lips to his. "Kieran got back and almost left to go find you!"

"Mmmnmm." He closed his eyes, the feeling of Sybil's lips applying gentle pressure to his enough to send electricity racing down his spine, throughout his entire body. "Kieran knows I can watch out for myself."

"Oh can you? Because in my experience, Tom Branson, when you're left on your own, you tend to do very foolish things." She kissed him again, this time applying more pressure, leaning into the kiss more and catching his lips between hers.

"Like what?" He caressed her cheek, tracing the graceful curve of her cheekbones with his fingertips, carefully, as if he was touching a butterfly's wing. "Give me one good example."

"How about now?"

"Do tell me, love, what foolish thing I'm about to do now." He had the faintest idea, but he was enjoying the quiet banter that had begun between them, and he didn't look forward to ending it too soon.

"You," she said, her lips curving into a sly grin as she scooted closer, so her body was pressed more firmly against his, "are going to give me that wedding night you promised me when you said I do."

"I thought you said we'd wait."

"Forever, yes, but forever's over. We can finally have each other."

* * *

***_The Allegory of Love _by CS Lewis was not published until 1939, though for purposes of this narrative, it was published before then. **

**A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, and reviews are always welcome. Thank you so much for reading, and thank you so much for supporting this fic. You guys are the best. **

**Thank you!**


	37. Unanswered Letters

**A/N: And here's the next chapter! We are nearing the end of 1919, and soon we will be moving into 1920, which is an important year for the Tom/Sybil shippers, and don't we know it.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Downton Abbey. I wish I did, but I don't. **

**Enjoy~**

* * *

_July 3, 1919 _

_Mairead- _

_I hope this letter finds you in good health and good spirits, though knowing you, you're happy as a lark to be back at Downton. _

_Sybil and I are getting along well ourselves, especially now that we've moved to Dublin and have found work that pays well and satisfies us enough to make the demands worth it. You'd like the flat we settled on- there's a bookshop down the way, and Phoenix Park isn't far. You can't see the Liffey, I'm afraid, though you never liked the docks much, did you? Perhaps you can come see for yourself someday- not soon, obviously, as Mrs. Hughes is unlikely to let you go for long any time in the near future, but know that you are always welcome in our home. _

_I know you and I are nowhere near as close as you and Sam were- he was your brother, so I can hardly take his place in that regard- but know that I love you, Mairead, and I only want to keep you safe. I'm sorry if it ever seems I am trying to control you- you and Sybil are both free spirits if there ever were any, and I know there's no use trying to control her, so I really should assume the same for you- and I apologize specifically for my behavior at the Wellington Testimonial the day before you left. It was wrong for me to suggest that you might be jealous of what Sybil and I managed to have, and I pray that you will forgive me for what I said and what my words might have implied that day. _

_All the best, _

_Tom_

* * *

Mairead folded the letter and slipped it back into its envelope, which she tucked alongside her plate. "May I please be excused?" she asked, her question directed towards the head of the table, where Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes sat, like a father and mother presiding over their large brood.

"Of course you may, Mairead," Mrs. Hughes said.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes." Mairead made quick work of collecting her plate and teacup, and she plucked up the envelope too, before she could forget it and risk having someone read the letter within. She went straight to the kitchen, slipping past Daisy, setting her dishes in the sink, and exiting almost as quickly and quietly as she had come, before Mrs. Patmore could descend upon the housemaid and shoo her out of the kitchen.

* * *

_August 14, 1919 _

_Mairead- _

_I imagine things are at a lull, as Sybil has told me that the London Season is underway, though by that same information, it is almost at its end, and soon work will pick up soon, I suppose. You're looking forward to that, aren't you? Sitting around doing very little isn't something you enjoy, I know, and I hope you haven't driven the others mad with your busy bee habits. _

_I wish I could say things were at a lull here in Ireland, though we both know that's never been the case. Sybil and I are safe, as are Isibéal, Daniel, and Erin. It isn't so much in the cities as it is in the countryside, and even then, from the reports I've heard and read and written, it's in some counties more than others. _

_Despite this, I still wish you would consider visiting us when you have time. We would love to have you, and there's plenty of room for you to stay with us in the flat. _

_All the best, _

_Tom_

* * *

_September 4, 1919 _

_Mairead- _

_I know you wouldn't forget, but Sybil wanted me to write regardless and remind you that today is Daniel's sixth birthday. _

_Isibéal brought him and Erin to our flat for dinner earlier this evening, and we had a small cake, which Sybil made, if you'll believe that. You would've loved it, you really would've, though you're busy, and I respect your obligations. Lord knows you'd do the same for me. _

_Anyways, Isibéal and the children were asking after you, and I told them you were doing well, that you would be visiting soon (Daniel seemed excited at the prospect of "Aunt May" coming to visit. Please tell me you're going to teach him to call you by your proper name, or at least something closer, when he's older), and you would write when you had the chance. _

_Please write to them, Mairead. Isibéal is your brother's wife, and Erin is your godchild, and I know you must feel sending them some of your earnings is interaction enough, it is cold and distant compared to what you could be doing. I saw you play with Daniel and Erin when you came for our wedding, and, let me tell you, _that _was love. _

_Christopher Moran said he passed you on his way back into the village that one day, and saw you playing with them, and saw how you sheltered them when Ryan Murray came and stuck his no-good nose in things, and he said to me "I thought for a moment that those were her babes, though the girl looked too much like Sam for that to be so...still, she acted as if they were her own, wouldn't let Ryan Murray so much's look at 'em if he tried. She'll be a wonderful mother some day, I'm sure of it." _

_It's getting late, Mairead, and Sybil's already gone to bed, and so I will bid you goodnight, and God bless you, __a stóirín._

_\- Tom_

* * *

_October 30, 1919 _

_Mairead-_

_I hope all is well with you. _

_I'm not sure what is being said at Downton about what is going on in Ireland as I'm writing this (though I suppose Lord Grantham and his family aren't concerning themselves with such things, and I think the same can be said for the staff), but that's surely what should be happening. It's appalling, the amount of violence that both Sybil and I are witnessing in our respective fields. I know Sam always hoped independence would be ushered in by the great orators, and not by the guerilla fighters who seem to be raring for a fight without any regard for the lives they are disrupting in doing so. _

_Nonetheless, I must admit I'm glad to see Ireland fighting back, in part because it's high time she did, and also because it gives me something to write about. _

_All the best,_

_Tom_

* * *

"You're quite popular as of late, aren't you?" Anna asked as she helped Mairead clear the dining room from breakfast. "Careful with the teacups- I accidentally broke one of them when I was your age, and I don't think I've ever seen Mrs. Hughes so distraught over the family's things."

Mairead nodded. "I'd say the same for you, Mrs. Bates," she said, setting the china on a tray, careful that it didn't chip in the process. Her words were dangerously close to being out of line, but it wasn't far from the truth.

It seemed that every day, there was a letter in the post from Mr. Bates, and Mairead knew that Anna put a letter of her own in the box for outgoing post. Similarly, there was something for Mairead from Tom nearly every day, whether it was an article of his (clipped from a newspaper by Sybil, Mairead was sure of it), a letter or two that was at least a page long, or (and this had happened four or five times since the middle of July) a five pound note, sometimes two, with a letter signed by both Tom and Sybil explaining that it was something for her to put aside as pocket money. Sybil clearly wrote those notes, because five pounds were hardly pocket money, not to people like Mairead and Tom.

The letters had gone unanswered, stowed in the small wooden box where Mairead kept all the letters she received, and the articles were placed in the same box after she read them before bed. She could only imagine what Mr. Carson would say if he caught her reading articles of such a political nature as Tom's were, though to his credit, not all of them were as charged as Mr. Carson might suspect them being, and not all of them were political (though those were nowhere near as good as the more political pieces). The money remained untouched, hidden under five years of correspondences from Sam, Tom, Kieran, and other, more permanent fixtures in her life.

"Perhaps, but everyone knows who my letters are from. You, on the other hand, for all we know, could have an admirer, or even a sweetheart," the head housemaid (soon-to-be-lady's-maid, Mairead was sure of it) said, a mischievous smile flitting across her face. "So which is it?"

"I haven't got a sweetheart, and I don't know who'd a'mire me enough t'want t'be mine."

_No one but Nathaniel_, she thought, but she dismissed the thought before it had the chance to set down roots and expand. It wasn't something that she needed in her thoughts, not now, not ever, and not anymore. He was part of her past now, and things from the past needed to stay in the past.

"I wouldn't say that if I were you," Anna warned. "You're still young, and no doubt he's out there, waiting for you to come find him."

"Is that how you and Mr. Bates met?" Mairead asked, daring to broach the subject of Anna's husband- a subject that was greatly discouraged by Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson for discussion because of the high esteem in which everyone held Anna, as well as the dubious nature of the charges brought up against her husband.

Anna laughed- perhaps the first time Mairead had truly heard her laugh since her husband was arrested. "I suppose so, though not really," she said. "I had no problem finding him physically, but finding _him_, yes, I think he was waiting for me, in his way."

"Do they have a date for the trial?"

The question came out of the blue, and Mairead cursed herself for asking it the second she saw Anna's expression darken, her smile flattening out into an indifferent line. She'd given into curiosity, tired of hearing the other maids speculating about when the trial would be, if there was to be a trial at all (of course there would be a trial, though would it be a fair one, that was the question), and whether or not the valet actually did kill his wife (well, _ex_-wife. Anna was his wife now, and Mairead knew that Mr. Bates would never lay a finger on Anna, no matter what reason she might give him).

"They do."

"When?"

"January fifth, at eleven o'clock sharp, in York."

"May I come?" Mairead asked. "I'd hate t'think of you as facing this alone."

"That's very kind of you, and no, I don't mind if you come. I'd like it, actually. Thank you."

* * *

**A/N: Aaaand that concludes another chapter of _A Patch of Clover. _**

**I'll have yo know that when Sybil dies, there will be a divergent AU where she doesn't die there is a lot of Sybil/Tom fluff and a few children involved. **

**Also, I just noticed this, all the dates that I have selected for the letters are thursdays. **

**Please read and review, and ****enjoy, and tell your friends and thank you so much for reading! **


	38. Trials and Tribulations

**A/N: So chronologically now, we're about at the end of the second season, at roughly the Christmas Special in terms of timing. **

**I know I've said it loads before, but thank you thank you thank you for all the support you've given A Patch of Clover, and you have no idea, but it means the world to me. **

**Disclaimer: I do no own _Downton Abbey._**

**Enjoy~**

* * *

_December 20, 1919 _

_Mairead- _

_Happy Christmas! _

_I do wish you'd accepted our invitation to come spend the holidays with us in Ireland, but I'm sure you're keen to keep at your work. _

_I hope this reaches you in time for the holidays, and that everything's the right size (if not, then by all means, let me know, or, knowing you, take it in as you see fit. If anything, they should be on the larger side). _

_Tom wanted you to know that there's a little Branson on the way- I'm about three and a half months along, the doctor said, and everything is as it should be- and hopefully you'll be in a position to be there for at least the christening, which will be in Dublin. We'd appreciate it very much, though I'm sure you know that, and I know Tom would want you to meet your new cousin as soon as you're able. _

_On the subject of Tom- Mairead, please reply to his letters. He was very upset when you left without saying goodbye, and he thinks it was his fault. Please, tell him he's done nothing wrong, or, if he has done something wrong, tell him what it was and try to make amends. He wants nothing but the best for you, and he loves you very much. I know you love him too, and, while you must be hurting as well, it would do you both a world of good to put it behind you and move past it, as I'm sure you can. _

_-Sybil_

* * *

"My goodness," Anna breathed when Mairead stepped into her room, wearing what she could only assume were the contents of the parcels that had arrived in the morning post five days ago. "It doesn't look like it needs to be taken in at all."

The skirt needed hemming, perhaps, to make it look like it was from the post-war world of shorter skirts, and the sleeves could do with being shortened, at least to the elbows, for the same reason. That was all easily done, though, and Anna would be more than glad to assist with that effort, because it would give her something to do, rather than bringing about her first grey hairs with all the worry that filled her time when she wasn't doing what was asked of her.

She watched as Mairead ran her hands down the dark blue linen of the skirt, smoothing the fabric against her body, or perhaps trying to find fault with it, though why, Anna couldn't say.

"The skirt needs to be hemmed," the younger woman noted, pressing her lips together, as if the length of the skirt offended her somehow.

"I can help, if you'd like," Anna offered.

Mairead shook her head. "Thank you, Mrs. Bates, but I think I'll be able t'manage it on my own," she said, her hand falling to her side.

Anna didn't bother trying to correct the young housemaid- getting her to call Jane something other than "Mrs. Moorsum" had proven impossible, at least with any consistency- and Anna didn't want to push too far. She recognized the thick stubborn streak that the girl had, but there was something else that Anna didn't quite recognize, that bordered on defensive more than anything, yet it wasn't that either.

"I insist."

"Mrs. Bates, there's really no need t'-"

"Mairead, you can hardly expect to be able to hem a skirt well on your own," Anna said. "I'm helping you and that's final."

Under normal circumstances, Anna wouldn't be so insistent, but it was common sense, really, that a skirt couldn't be hemmed by only one person- not even a seasoned lady's maid like Mrs. O'Brien could manage such a feat, and often requested Anna's help. Anna didn't mind the extra work either, not to mention that she was determined to get Mairead to open up more, so at least the girl wouldn't get lonely and end up in a bad way.

"Yes Mrs. Bates," Mairead said, giving Anna a slow nod.

"Splendid. How about after tea then? I'm sure Mrs. Hughes won't mind if we take an hour for ourselves, and I doubt there'll be much else to do."

Another slow nod. "Sounds wonderful," Mairead said. "Thank you, Mrs. Bates."

* * *

_January 5, 1920 _

_Dear God, please let this go well. Mrs. Bates hasn't done anything against anyone, and she doesn't deserve whatever fate her husband can be condemned to. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, amen. _

This was the prayer that Mairead turned over and over in her mind as she watched the courtroom fill with somberly-dressed men and women, dressed in the same somber greys and dark blues that the city outside wore under the winter sky. Beside her, Anna sat with her back pressed against the wall of the courtroom, her eyes fixated on the stand where her husband would be standing in a few moments, once the jury was finished with whatever preparations men like them made, and Mairead could see the anxiety in the older woman's eyes.

"Have faith," she whispered, hesitant to reach for Anna's hand, less she overstep the bounds of propriety.

Anna's focus on the front of the courtroom broke, and her listless blue eyes met Mairead's. "I have nothing but faith," she said in return, a quiet, tight smile on her lips.

"Then you have nothing to fear."

Mairead herself didn't believe in the power of faith, at least not in the sense that she believed that having faith meant not having anything to be afraid of. Everyone she'd known who expressed that much faith had died or met some kind of misfortune, sometimes in the name of that faith.

She was religious, yes- Catholic, like both the Branson and Hayes families had been for centuries- but not so religious that she would place everything in the hands of God, like some did, no doubt. She preferred to think she was in charge, like a captain was ultimately in charge of his vessel, and God was the navigator, there to help her make a safe journey from port to port, and even then, her full faith wasn't in Him.

After all, God hadn't shown her kindness in her mother's face, where kindness was supposed to dwell, He hadn't saved Sam from an early grave, nor had He come between her and Nathaniel, when he was supposed to protect people like her from people like him, or at least from the choices she made then. From this, she could conclude that He was there to help her find her way, not to protect her from the evils of the world. She could do that on her own. She was allowed to come to Him for help, to seek Him out when she needed refuge from the world, and to be reassured when she so desperately needed it.

To Him, Mairead would admit having loved a man and having spurned him because his lot in life was so different than her own, and to Him, she would confess that there had been days when she still did love that man, despite the wrong he had done her. God knew all of her shame, and her joy, too, though Mairead often wondered what there was to rejoice in anymore. She would never marry, and thus, would never see children of her own, not with the life she'd decided was her calling- the life of a housekeeper, just like her mother, only Mairead would be kinder than her mother had been, and not force her children to suffer for her dream. She would likely never know love, nothing like Tom and Sybil knew anyways, and her sins outweighed her virtues too much for her to ever think she could truly be forgiven, even if she was absolved those sins through confession and penance.

"Here they come," she heard Anna whisper, the woman's voice fearful in Mairead's ear. "Dear Lord, grant me faith."

It was then that Mairead dared to reach out and squeeze Anna's hand gently, earning a timid smile from the older woman, when she'd expected a reproachful glare.

* * *

The trial did not go well.

Every word seemed to have been twisted against Mr. Bates, regardless of what the original intent behind the recalled dialogues and instances had been.

The valet (Mairead refused to see him as the _ex_-valet everyone no doubt thought of him as by this point) stood as still as a statue, his expression impassive, as she knew it to be, though there were times when the stillness would be troubled by a flicker of defeat and sadness, and his cold calmness would falter with it. He saw how hopeless it was, how clever _they _were, the lawyers arguing for the deceased Mrs. Bates ("Vera," Anna told her, the name spoken softly, though there was no missing the hint of venom in the head housemaid's voice), forcing His Lordship to use such easily-twisted words against his valet.

Mairead could see the hopelessness that overtook him every time his eyes wandered to where Anna sat, the look that said "forgive me," and "save me" at the same time, as if he was looking upon the face of God and asking those same things. His dark eyes would then find their way to Mairead, who gave him a reassuring, if somewhat awkward nod, trying to assure him that she would take care of Anna- somehow. She wasn't sure how, nor was she sure as to why she was so suddenly determined to take care of a woman six months ago she had been indifferent to, but she would.

Hope came in the form of Mrs. Hughes as the Scotswoman made her way to the witness stand to testify.

_If anyone can convince them that Mr. Bates is innocent, it's her_, Mairead decided, thinking for a moment that God had heard her prayers and had sent the Scottish Dragon (Ethel's nickname for the housekeeper, not Mairead's) as the answer.

Beside her, Anna watched with the fixed attention of a child at his first Christmas pageant, her breaths quivering with each careful "Thank you God," that passed her lips. She sat straighter, her eyes were suddenly bright, suddenly hopeful, and that same bright hope didn't go unnoticed by her husband.

And then Mrs. Hughes spoke.

Mairead would never remember what Mrs. Hughes had said, only the sudden heaviness in the air as her words were twisted as easily as His Lordship's had been. A shadow was thrown over Anna again, and Mairead could've sworn that she saw her lip curl into a bitter snarl as the housekeeper was escorted from the witness stand, her proud bearing broken by the weight of the testimony she'd just given.

How could she?

Mrs. Hughes knew as well as anyone that Mr. Bates was an innocent man, and she would never speak a lie about anyone. She was supposed to be on Anna's side, supposed to be on the side of what was good and just, yet she had gone and spoken words against him.

How could she?

Didn't she see that she'd betrayed Anna's trust? Anna loved that woman as perhaps one loved their mother, most likely because Mrs. Hughes was (by the unspoken rule of the staff) practically her mother, and she trusted her as all children trust their mothers. Mrs. Hughes was supposed to be on their side! She was supposed to fight, tooth and nail, for her maids, her children, not give up and walk away, defeated!

* * *

The verdict was all too clear, even before it was announced.

Guilty.

"John Bates, you have been found guilty of the charge of wilful murder. You will be taken from here to a place of execution where you will be hanged by the neck until you are dead, and may God have mercy upon your soul," said the judge, looking down upon the accused man- an _innocent_ man accused of a crime for which there was very little physical evidence and too much word of mouth involved- with the cold indifference and disinterest that characterized deities of justice.

_What do you know of justice? _Mairead wanted to tell him, and she would've, if she wasn't needed to help calm Anna, whose frantic cries filled Mairead's ears, even when the older woman rested her head quietly against her chest, the light gone from her eyes and her whole body heavy against the younger woman's.

* * *

The train ride home would be a quiet and lonely one for all.

Both Mairead and Anna avoided Mrs. Hughes's gaze, and Anna turned away from Mrs. Hughes's attempts to comfort her as they left the courthouse for the station. She did, however, allow Mairead to help her here and there, and when she fell asleep with her head in Mairead's lap, a few white-blonde hairs splayed across the dark navy of Mairead's skirt, Mairead didn't object.

"_Blessed are those who mourn: for they will be comforted. Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth,_" she whispered as she felt herself drifting off to sleep, away from the injustice that today had shown her and the woman she'd come to see as more than a colleague, but for once in her life, as a _friend_. "_Blessed are those who who hunger and thirst for righteousness: for they will be filled.*"_

* * *

***The Beatitudes (Mark 5:3-12)**

**A/N: And thus concludes Chapter 38 of _A Patch of Clover. _Obviously, there's some questions that need answering, but they will be answered, have no fear- we shall learn what really happened in Manchester someday in the not-too-distant future, my dears. Never you have any fear. **

**Thank you for reading, and as I said, your support means the world Please leave a review if you can, so I know what I did well, and how I can do more of what you like if there's something you liked! **

**Thank you~**


	39. Those Terrified, Vague Fingers

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Downton Abbey._ When it comes to Nathaniel Downing, however, I do own that. Most unfortunately. **

****TRIGGER WARNING: Contains scenes of violence, as well as rape/attempted rape ****

* * *

_March 1920_

Mairead was dusting the mantle of the fireplace in one of Downton's smaller guest rooms- the Apollo Room, named for the room's placement on the east side of the great house, which afforded it the best view of the sunrise, especially this time of year- when she heard the door being opened. It was a quiet, wooden creaking sound, easily picked out from the soft back-and-forth of the feather duster across the stone of the mantle, and at first, she paid it no mind. Footsteps followed the opening door, but still, she paid it no mind.

It was probably one of the other housemaids- Madge, most likely- come to help her with the room, one of the many guest rooms that had been aired out a few days prior in preparation for the guests who were now staying for Lady Mary's wedding to Mr. Matthew. The chances of it being a guest were so slim, they were almost nonexistent- everyone was still down in the yard, enjoying the mild afternoon under the pavilions that the gardeners had pitched as soon as the family left for the chapel.

"I'll get the linens, don'tcha worry," she said, not even looking at the newcomer, her attention fixed on the statuette of a woman and a swan. The swan held the woman to his body, a bronze wing curved around her naked hip and his head rested just below her breast.

"Mairead?"

She stopped dusting, the statuette forgotten as she felt her heart pick up speed in her chest at the sound of her name being spoken as _he'd_ spoken it.

"Mr. Nathaniel," she managed to say, trying to force her heart back down her throat. She turned her attention from the mantle long enough to see the dark gold hair and the slightly-smiling lips that had brought her to her knees almost, in another time. "I wasn't aware...I wasn't aware you were going to be here."

"And neither was I, though I must say, it's a pleasant surprise." He closed the door behind him and took long, careful strides towards her. "Dear Lord, Mairead, it's only been four years, but it feels like forever."

"Forever would be too short a time away from you," she replied, the venom she intended for those words lost in the sudden waver in her voice. She felt her heart trying to climb up her throat again, and she swallowed, forcing it down.

"Still as shrewish and twice as beautiful, I see," he said, his voice low as he reached to touch the side of her face, turning it towards him so the two were eye to eye.

Mairead didn't flinch, too afraid of betraying her fear before the frantic, almost painful rhythm of her heart did the job for her. "Mr. Nathaniel," she began, searching frantically for the words to get him away from her, so she could make her escape. "Mr. Nathaniel, I can't."

"Oh," he breathed, his hand sliding around to cup the back of her neck, while the other found its way to her waist. "But you can. Finally, Mairead, _we_ can. Your mother isn't here to judge you for who you love, and I have enough money for the two of us. No one would care that you're a servant or a papist, or that I'm a middle-class gentleman who wants to marry you."

_My mother never cared, _she thought, her insides twisting into tight, intricate knots.

She didn't care that he'd called her by what she was- a servant- or that he'd called her a papist. She was used to those words by now. What she cared about was he was touching her as no man should touch a woman, regardless of how she stood in comparison to him, socially or otherwise. She knew what he was going to do, and she knew she was powerless to stop him.

"I said, I don't love you."

The words hurt, because sometimes, she did love him, and she hated herself for still having moments like that, when she would entertain the possibility of him, the possibility of _them._ It was disgusting that, after all the grief he'd caused her, the shame he nearly heaped upon her name, that she kept thinking about him in the way of a lover.

"Lying doesn't become you, Mairead," he said, bending his head so his words brushed against her neck on his warm breath, and she felt his hold on her waist tighten. He was brushing her neck with his thumb, each stroke tightening the knot in her stomach, making it harder and harder for her to keep a clear head.

She knew what he was going to do next- this was exactly how it had gone all those years ago, only he'd been less sure in his movements, and they'd been in his father's study, with both of the doors locked, except for one, and that was how Elliot Grant, bless his soul, had come to her rescue.

There was no chance of rescue now.

Nathaniel stood between her and the door, which was closed, and she knew that he could easily overpower her (and God knew he would) if she tried to show any signs of escape.

"I don't love you," she repeated, trying to tear herself away, only to be caught by the jaw, like she was a horse resisting the bit.

"I don't believe you." Nathaniel spoke with more of a growl in his voice as he forced Mairead's chin up and bent to kiss her, his lips pressed so firmly against hers that she staggered backwards, almost falling to the ground. He slid a hand into the loose gather of hair at the nape of her neck, underneath her bun, holding her skull as if it was a newborn child, only, Mairead could sense the underlying force in his actions. He would tighten his hold if she showed any signs of resistance. "Come on, love," he said, pulling away long enough for Mairead to catch her breath.

She shook her head, ducking her head to avoid him as much as his hold on her would allow. "Stop," she said, her voice small and hoarse. "Please Mr. Nathaniel, stop."

"Say my name," he told her, his hand on the back of her neck once more.

"Mr. Nathaniel, I-" She could feel him undoing the clasps on the back of her dress. _Dear God, no, _she prayed, unable to meet Nathaniel's eyes.

"Just my name. No title. Like I say yours, Mairead." He eased her black uniform dress off of her shoulders, sending it to the ground all in one movement, and leaving Mairead standing before him in only her slip.

"Mr. Nathaniel-"

She was cut off as he struck her across the face, the same red flaring in his cheeks as it did where he had hit.

"I loved you," he said, taking her by the shoulders and shaking her, like some fathers shook their sons as punishment for a transgression. "I still love you. I never stopped. I would gladly give the world for you! How many people would do that for _you, _a papist whore with hardly a piece of grass to your name? I would give everything for you, but you wave it off because it would hurt you. I would _never_ hurt you, Mairead. I was ready to give my world, my reputation, for you, for _us_."

"How can you?" she asked, a small spark of defiance still in her eyes, though it was so weak, one more word from Nathaniel, and it might go out.

She had just about given up- there was no hope of anyone coming to her rescue, and even then, what good would it do her? She would be seen as the one at fault here, women always were. It wouldn't matter what happened between now and her being found, because Nathaniel had the advantage of his social class, and he was right when he said she had nothing.

She made one last attempt to free herself, succeeding in breaking from Nathaniel's hold, only to fall to the floor. She hurried to get away from him, even if it was only to the other side of the room, and she made it part way before he caught up to her, overtaking her in two long strides.

"Stop," she said, again, repeating the word over and over again like a prayer, though at this point, she knew God wasn't listening.

"Oh Mairead," he said, pulling her up by her wrist and forcing her up against the wall, his body pressed firmly against hers to keep her standing. "You always had such a lovely voice, yet you spend it speaking so shrilly, like a goose instead of a swan."

"Swans don't sing," she murmured, shaking her head. "They're mute."

"Fitting, then," he told her, running a hand along the curve of her hips and waist, then the swell of her breasts beneath the fabric of her slip. "Perhaps your beauty is more appreciated when you can't be heard, if that's the case."

She felt his hand drop to her thighs, and it was then that she allowed herself to cry out louder, her throat burning with fear, as well as from lack of oxygen. She didn't know what she was saying- anything to catch the attention of anyone, she hardly cared now, who found her and what happened, as long as she was away from _him._

* * *

"Stop!"

Thomas stopped in his tracks, his weight shifted forward, like a pointer who had a scent but was waiting for his master's orders to follow the trail.

_What in God's name is going on?_ he wondered, taking a couple of tentative steps in the direction of the cries, then taking one back.

It wasn't his business, what was going on in there, was it? He was sure it was one of the guests- no doubt one of Mr. Matthew's married friends from Manchester, disciplining his wife for committing some infraction (Thomas couldn't say he approved of abuse, but what did he know?).

_If you know what's good for you, Thomas Barrow, you're going to walk right by and get back to helping Alfred, before he pours the guests petrol instead of champagne. _

Perhaps he would've gotten on with his business, left it at the mere assumption that it was one of Mr. Matthew's old friends, except that the voice was distinctly female- as shrill and hoarse as it was, it was unmistakably that of a woman- and none of Mr. Matthew's friends seemed the kind to let their wives hold mastery over them. Also, this was the bachelor's wing- there were no married men here.

Again, the voice cried out, more desperate than the last few times, and Thomas heard something else in the voice, something beyond the desperation and pain and hopelessness that he recognized from the voices of men in the trenches- a lilt. An _Irish_ lilt.

It had to be Mairead.

There was no other explanation. There were no other Irishwomen in attendance, as guests or as visiting staff, and his suspicions were confirmed when he heard a male voice bark "For God's sake, Mairead, I love you," followed by the muffled sound of a hand striking a cheek. "You're only making it worse for yourself."

He couldn't stand it any longer.

It was his duty as a senior staff member to look after the more junior servants, and he knew Mrs. Hughes would have his head if he let anything happen to one of her maids. He had to help Mairead, regardless of what was happening behind those doors, and he had to see that she was safe.

_Dear God, don't let this be a stupid idea, _he prayed (well, not prayed, exactly. Thomas didn't think of himself as a praying man) as he opened the door, his heartbeat picking up speed as he beheld the scene before him.

Mairead was half-hidden behind a young man, dressed in nothing but her slip, her eyes wide with fear, pure, irrational fear, and her chest rose and fell too quickly- if she didn't calm down, she was going to hyperventilate, perhaps she already was. She was pinned against the wall, though Thomas wasn't sure she registered this, and he would almost say that the young man was crushing her against the wall if he didn't know better.

The young man wasn't someone the valet recognized, so he could only assume that it was a guest who had Mairead trapped, one of Mr. Matthew's friends, most likely. Whatever the case, Thomas found himself unable to take calm, composed strides at the man, not when a second wasted could be a second too late for Mairead, and it wasn't long before the valet had a firm grip on the young man's collar and was pulling him off the frightened housemaid like he'd pulled Isis off of a pair of shoes one too many times.

The young man fought back, his arms flailing wildly about like a poorly-coordinated octopus's arms might, but Thomas ignored his blows and focused on Mairead.

With the removal of her assailant, the young woman sunk to the floor and tucked her knees to her chin, her heels practically jammed up against her thighs. Her lips moved as if she was speaking, but only the sound of quivering air came out as she tried to speak, her breaths too quick and shallow to support her voice.

Slowly, so he didn't frighten her, Thomas sank to his knees, making sure that he was ready in case the young man thought to come at her again.

"Mairead, it's okay. I'm not going to hurt you," he said, keeping his voice low enough that he didn't risk startling her further. He held his hands wide, with the palms facing upwards, so hopefully she would see that he didn't mean her harm.

He'd dealt with shell shock before, though that had been with soldiers, not a housemaid, and even the soldiers he'd helped hadn't been in as rough a shape as Mairead was.

She slid her legs out a little- not far, but enough for Thomas to know that he was getting through to her. She opened her mouth to say something, but only a choked whimper came through, and she hung her head.

"Mairead," Thomas said again, his attention locked on the quick movement of her chest. "Mairead, you need to slow your breathing, or else you're going to pass out, alright?" He reached for her hand, intending to place it on his side, so she could feel his breaths, but the second his hand brushed hers, she pulled her knees to her body and let out a sound that was between a hiss and a cry of anguish.

As much as he was at loathe to admit it, Thomas needed help, and, more importantly, Mairead needed help from someone who was capable of being more gentle than he was, or at least more patient. He needed Lady Sybil, that was who he needed, more than anyone right now.

Lady Sybil would know what to do, and Thomas knew that she and Mairead were close, something that would hopefully help to comfort the girl and get her to calm down. Lady Sybil, with her voice that could probably cause the ocean's waters to lie flat if she asked politely enough, or tame the legendary unicorn, if such things existed. She would be able to help, there was no question about it.

But how would he get her to come?  
Thomas couldn't leave Mairead, not when the girl needed to be watched over, lest her state worsen. He could ask one of the other housemaids to fetch Lady Sybil- and Mr. Branson, only because Thomas knew Mairead and the former chauffeur were close enough that maybe she would trust him- and hope that no one asked questions.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said as he rose to his feet and backed towards the bed, retrieving the quilt that was folded across the bottom and returning to kneel in front of her. "Can I put this around you?"

She nodded, rocking forward so he could wrap it around her back. Her breathing, he noticed, was less frantic, and he allowed himself a small, gentle smile.

"That's it," he said, reaching out to tuck the quilt around her so she wouldn't feel exposed. "I'm going to ring for someone to fetch Lady Sybil and Mr. Branson."

"Tom," she said, looking up at the name, her eyes alight with recognition.

So he was right in assuming that sending for Mr. Branson would be a good idea after all. "Yes," he said. "Tom. I'll send for him, I promise."

* * *

"Mr. Barrow, what in God's name happened?" Sybil asked as she opened the door to the Apollo Room, her eyes going immediately to Mairead, who was curled against the wall, a pale yellow quilt clutched tightly around her.

Thomas was kneeling by the housemaid's side, saying something in a low voice, but he stopped as soon as he heard Sybil enter. "She was…" He hesitated, and a bit of color drained from his face. "She was attacked, m'lady," he finally said.

Her stomach fell. "Raped, you mean," she said, frightened by the cold certainty in her voice.

"Y-yes, m'lady."

She gave him a curt nod and knelt in front of Mairead, taking in the girl's condition with her eyes before daring to reach out and pull away the quilt. "Ssh," she said, freezing when she saw the girl's body tense up. "I'm here to help."

In her time as a nurse in Dublin, Sybil had seen enough women in a similar situation as Mairead's to know how to go about such a delicate business, though none of her patients had ever been as young as Mairead. Most of her patients had been upwards of twenty-five, and it had always been in the back room of a pub or some such similar place- never a guest bedroom of a great house.

It wasn't something she thought could ever happen at Downton, yet it had. Downton Abbey, the safest place Sybil knew in all of England-in all the world, perhaps- had been the setting for this atrocity, of all places.

Sybil checked to make sure Mairead was breathing properly, which, thank God, she was, so that was one worry out of the way. "Good job getting her to calm down, Thomas," she said, giving her former colleague a brisk nod of thanks.

She continued checking the young woman over as much as she would allow, starting with the tender-looking swath of red that seemed to take up the entire right side of her face. There were similar marks on the left side, though they were nowhere near as bad as on the right. She'd been struck across the face, multiple times, and there was no denying it. It was a blessing that neither her jaw nor her nose had been broken, though she did notice a line of bruising that was beginning to appear along Mairead's jawline.

"Oh my God!" Sybil heard Tom exclaim as he entered the room, rushing to Mairead's side the second he laid eyes on her. He went to touch her, and almost immediately, she pulled away, as if she'd been prodded with a red-hot poker.

Sybil could see the rage in her husband's eyes at Mairead's reaction, and she couldn't blame him. Even she felt herself beginning to succumb to a sort of anger that was completely foreign to her, her mind scrambling itself so thoroughly, she was hardly able to recall the finer details of her training. All she wanted to do was find the man who had done this and see him answer for his crime, even if he hung for it. She didn't care what had to happen, because Mairead didn't deserve to suffer like this.

"Stop that," she hissed at Tom, her attention still fixed on Mairead. Whatever she did she couldn't take her eyes off of the girl, for fear that she would miss something important.

"Who did this to her?" Tom's blue eyes practically _blazed_ with anger, and his hands shook at his side. "Who? Was it you, Barrow?" he asked Thomas, who was keeping watch by the door.

"I found her like this," the accused said, shaking his head at Tom. "And I may be low by the standards of many here, but I would never stoop _that_ low."

"Then who was it? Because I swear, the bastard'll be hangin' from the bridge by midnight for harmin' her like this."

A quiet whimper escaped Mairead's lips, and almost instantly, Tom's rage seemed to quiet down into a quiet, simmering thing.

"Tom, unless you can behave yourself, please leave," Sybil said, keeping her voice steady for Mairead's sake as she placed a gentle hand on the less-abused side of her face. She was relieved that the girl only flinched slightly under her touch, instead of pulling away. "Ssh, it's okay. I'm going to help you, alright?"

"Is there anything you need me to do, m'lady?" Thomas asked. "Should I phone Dr. Clarkson?"

Sybil shook her head. "No," she said, biting her lip. While she had complete faith in Dr. Clarkson's ability as a doctor, she needed someone who knew how to handle this better than Sybil would, someone who wouldn't frighten Mairead.

"Are you sure, m'lady?"

"Yes," came her clipped reply. "Though, if you wouldn't mind, could you ask Mrs. Crawley to come up here? I'm afraid I need her help."

"Certainly, m'lady," Thomas said. "Should I get a basin of water and some washcloths as well?"

She pressed her lips together. "Yes, that would be lovely. Thank you."

"No need t'thank me, m'lady," he said. "I'm just doing what any decent person would do."

"That's good to hear," she said. "Bring Mrs. Crawley and the other supplies to my and Tom's bedroom. We're going to try to move her there, away from here."

"Will do."

"Go, please. Don't give her any reason for alarm, though. The less people know about this, the better."

* * *

_God in Heaven, _Tom thought as he laid eyes on Mairead, his darling Mairead, his proud, spirited Mairead, sitting against the wall, wrapped in a blanket and whimpering like a newborn.

He could read the shock in Sybil's expression as his wife tried to get Mairead's attention, long enough that she could examine her face, which was beginning to look swollen where she'd been struck by her attacker. God bless his wife for her gentleness, especially now, as Tom stood in stunned silence, unable to move towards Mairead, for fear that he frightened her again.

Growing up, he'd heard of women being raped, from Sean Brennan's wife, who was thirty-five or so when it happened to her, to the woman of fifty-five who lived by Lough Dan and was known only as Old Maggie to the people of County Wicklow, and there was even a smaller girl, Anne Heaney, was her name, who was no older than eleven when she was said to have been raped by a stranger at the fair. It was a horrible thing, but Tom had always thought it so rare, because good brothers and cousins looked after their sisters and the other women of their family, so they would be able to prevent this sort of thing.

Never did he think that it would happen to Mairead, of all people, no, not in a million years, and especially not at Downton, which (as much as he hated to admit it) was probably the safest place for her, especially after everything that had happened in Ireland in the first three months of the new year alone. She was smart enough to know how to avoid men who preyed on women, clever enough to get herself away from threatening situations, and sharp-witted enough to buy herself time if she couldn't escape.

Yet Mairead, in all her cleverness, hadn't been spared.

As much as he knew it wasn't true, Tom blamed himself. He should've come in from the reception to check in on her- he knew she always did the men's wing in the afternoon on Saturdays- and to try and apologize for what had happened in Dublin.

But he hadn't.

Instead, he'd stayed with Sybil, enjoying polite (and rather strained) conversation with the other guests at Lady Mary and Matthew's wedding. He could've done something to prevent this, and spared Mairead the world of fear and shame she must be feeling now.

"We need to take her to our room," Sybil said once Thomas had left to fetch Mrs. Crawley. "She can't stay in here."

"And you can't carry her," he replied, glancing down at his wife's stomach, which was growing round with their child, who was due to arrive later in the summer.

"Are you sure you can manage, Tom?"

He stole a glance at Mairead, who seemed to have relaxed over the past few minutes, though he still didn't dare to touch her. "I think I can, love," he said, shedding the jacket of his morning suit, as well as the waistcoat, so he was just in the shirtsleeves and tie he knew Mairead would recognize. "Just tell me what to do."

He hated this, the feeling of not knowing what to do, especially when it came to someone such as Mairead, who he would give up anything for, if it meant she would be safe again. He knew this went beyond comforting her when she'd had a nightmare, because this was a nightmare made flesh and of the nature that extended beyond one person. He needed to know how he could make it better for her, so she knew he wouldn't ever let anyone or anything hurt her, just like he'd promised.

"Just listen to me," Sybil said, bending closer to Mairead. "Mairead, Tom's going to pick you up so we can take you somewhere else. He's not going to hurt you, are you Tom?"

"No, I won't," he said, speaking in Gaelic so perhaps Mairead would know it wasn't her attacker speaking to her. "I'm not going to let anyone hurt you. You're safe with me. You're always safe with me."

"Try picking her up now," Sybil instructed. "Gently- I don't know if anything's broken, and I don't want to find out this way."

"May I pick you up?" he asked, waiting to receive a tight nod from her before he went to scoop her up, speaking gently to her the whole time. "It's okay, _a stóirín. _I've got you. You're safe, no one's going to hurt you."

She weighed very little, no more than seven stone, which was enough to count her as small for her age, and Tom felt as if he was carrying a newborn through the gallery. He spoke to her in as even a tone as he could manage, telling her over and over again that she was safe, that he wasn't going to let anything happen to her, and silently, he swore that he'd find the bastard who did this and make sure that the crime against Mairead did not go unpunished.

"Lay her here," Sybil said, indicating the bed where they'd slept last night.

Last night…

Larry Grey.

He was the one who did this, wasn't he, after his plan to embarrass Tom at dinner failed? His new plan became to wound Tom so deeply that there would be no way for the Irishman to restrain himself, and "the papist brute" that Tom had heard himself be falsely accused of being would come to life.

"What're y'doin'?" Mairead asked, finally finding her voice as she was set down on the bed and Sybil began to ease her onto her back.

"I just want to take a look at you," Sybil said, setting her wrap on the back of a nearby chair. "Mrs. Crawley is going to be up soon to help, okay? We're not going to let anyone hurt you, Mairead. We just want to help you. Now lie on your back for me, darling. No one's going to hurt you. That's a good girl."

As Sybil pulled away the quilt, Tom saw that Mairead was only wearing a slip, and he also saw the markings- bruises mostly, thank God- that ran up her neck, all the way down to her arms.

"Tom, can you prop her up?" Sybil asked, rolling her sleeves back. "Not too much, but I want her able to see everything."

"Certainly, love," he said, going to carry out her order and taking a seat by his cousin's head when he was done. "I'm here, my little love. It's okay. Nothing's gonna hurt you."

"Mairead, darling, I'm going to start by looking at your face, alright? If I hurt you, let me know and I'll be more gentle." Sybil pushed Tom aside and took Mairead's face in her hands, peering closely and prodding here and there every so often, clearly taking extra care with the bruises along her jaw, which appeared to be fingers…

"Is everything alright?" Tom asked, looking up from his cousin when he heard a knocking at the door.

"Nothing's broken, but she's going to have a set of nasty bruises in a few hours," Sybil answered, setting Mairead's head down on the pillow and moving down her neck, her careful hands feeling for anything swollen or broken. "Get the door, will you? I think our reinforcements are here."

* * *

Isobel took charge the second she entered the room, and Sybil willingly gave it to her once she explained to the older woman what had happened and what information she'd gleaned from her examinations thus far.

It was a horrible, horrible thought, that a housemaid had been raped by a guest, and Isobel swore that once she was done, she was going to get to the bottom of things and see to it that justice was served.

"Nothing appears to be broken," she said as she neared the end of her examination. "Mairead, my dear, would you mind answering a few questions?"

"Cousin Isobel-"

"The answers will stay between us three"- she caught sight of Thomas Barrow hovering by the door, keeping watch- "us four."

"Mrs. Crawley, I don't think it's necessary," Branson said, his brows drawn together. "It'll only upset her further an'-"

"You forget that I have been a nurse longer than you have been on this earth, both of you, and I've seen plenty of cases like this, not to mention, my son is a solicitor. If we have certain information, we can always bring this to court, and I think the four of us are more than substantial witnesses."

"She does have a point," Thomas remarked with a smirk.

"See? Now, Mairead, do you know who attacked you?"

The young woman nodded. "Yes ma-yes ma'am."

"Can you tell me his name?"

"Nathaniel." Her body tightened, as if experiencing extreme pain, though Isobel recognized it for what it was- heartbreak. Mairead had loved her attacker, once upon a time, the poor girl.

"And his last name?" Isobel pressed, glancing at Tom, who had fished a notepad from the drawer and was writing the questions with their answers with the quick precision of a journalist.

"Downing. Nathaniel Downing."

"Great God almighty," Tom gasped. "That's...he's...sorry ma'am. Continue."

Isobel raised a brow in his direction, but said no more. "Can you explain what happened? You don't have to if you don't want to, but it will help if you want to press charges."

"I was...He...I…." Mairead gave up almost as soon as she'd started, her head falling back against the pillow, and her eyes drooping closed.

"She needs to rest," Sybil observed. "She can't go back to work, not in this state."

"Leave that to me," Isobel told her cousin. "Keep an eye on her while she rests, and make sure everything stays normal. I'll see if I can get something to help her sleep from Dr. Clarkson, though I have a feeling you want to keep this from him."

"That would be preferable, yes," Sybil answered, sitting down by Mairead and brushing a few stray hairs from her face. "Please make my excuses to Mary and Matthew. Tell them I had a headache and decided to take a nap, and Tom's with me."

"Of course," Isobel said. Her attention then flickered to Thomas. "Is there any chance I might speak with Mrs. Hughes? It would seem I'm rather short staffed and I was wondering perhaps if I might borrow one of her maids for a week or so."

Thomas's eyes lit up when he realized Isobel's plan. "Of course m'lady. I'm sure she'd be more than willing," he told her, going to open the door and escort Isobel downstairs.

* * *

**A/N: I am so sorry that I put you all through that, but, you can rest assured that it will get better. I know that this chapter was long and very upsetting, and thank you for sticking with me the whole way through. There will be some happy moments soon, I promise, though we know how dark of a year 1920 was for the Bransons, so bear with. There is a light at the end of the tunnel ( and it isn't a ****train, I promise)...it just happens to be a very long tunnel. **

**Thank you so much for reading, and this chapter's alternative title is "What Really Happened In Manchester ( For Real This Time)". **

**Please review if you get the chance, let me know how I did. It means a lot, truly. **

**Thank you.**


	40. Is This the Whole Picture?

**A/N: Sorry guys, it's going to stay a little dark for a while, but it will get better, I promise. Thank you for your reviews, and your support, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Downton Abbey_. **

* * *

Tom stood outside until the car taking Mairead to Crawley House was out of sight, but even then, he couldn't help but linger for a while longer, his posture stiff and his hands clasped tightly behind his back.

He'd wanted to go with them, so Mairead wouldn't think he'd abandoned her because of what'd happened, but Sybil had insisted that he stay behind. She needed him, now more than ever, and he needed her to know that it wasn't her fault, and she needed to hear it coming from him. He knew he needed to be the one telling her these things because she would know it was true if it came from him, not to mention that her mother would never say such things if she found out. He needed to be there for her, to assure her that it was okay, that she was going to be okay, and that he still loved her just as much, because love wasn't subject to change in times like these.

"You can see her when you come by to take Sybil home," Mrs. Crawley had told him once Mairead was safely in the car, nestled against Sybil like a child against its mother.

_She's in good hands,_ Tom reminded himself, turning towards the house and taking a few steps towards the front door before stopping at the bottom of the front steps. _Mrs. Crawley knows what she's doing, and Sybil is someone Mairead knows well enough that she won't be afraid. They'll take good care of her. _

As comforting as this knowledge was, it did little to assuage the guilt he felt gnawing at his conscience.

It would've been bearable if he didn't know why he felt so guilty, and he wished that to be the case, especially now, but he knew where his guilt came from, and no amount of confession and penance could relieve him of that. He would always remember that today had been the day that he'd let Mairead down, and while he knew the pain would lessen over time (as was the way with pain like this), Tom doubted that he would ever forget the fear in Mairead's eyes when he'd followed Sybil to the Apollo Room. It would stay with him forever, and whenever he looked at his cousin, Tom would be reminded of his guilt.

He'd failed her.

He'd let her be abused and taken advantage of, when he was supposed to protect her.

Once upon a time, he didn't have to care about her, not the same way he did now, because her father was still alive, and so was Sam. But now they were dead, and Mairead was Tom's responsibility.

He was supposed to protect her, to remind her that she _was_ loved unconditionally, even if her mother hadn't shown her that. She needed him, especially in times like this, when she could lose everything because of a crime committed upon her person.

"Tom! There you are!" Matthew sprinted down the front steps of the Abbey, his jacket flapping behind him in the slight wind. "Where have you been? No one's treated you poorly, I hope."

Tom shook his head. "Not at all," he said, trying to smile so Matthew wouldn't worry. He knew Matthew, of all the Crawleys, understood how it felt to be an outsider, and as he'd put it earlier, they had to stick together, look out for each other, those sorts of things.

"Then what's bothering you?" Matthew asked, coming to stand beside Tom and looking up at the house. "I'd like to help if I'm able."

Tom knew Matthew could help, not only through his connection to Lord Grantham, but also in his capacity as a solicitor. There was no doubt that charges would be brought up against Nathaniel Downing, and the Lord knew that Tom wanted nothing more than to do so as soon as possible. He knew Mairead would have the final say, as she should, and Tom would respect that. After all, it would be her reputation at stake if she decided to speak out about what Nathaniel did to her. If word got out, she could lose her job at Downton, for fear it might hurt the family's reputation, and she was likely never to get such a position again, given the shame associated with what had happened.

Sybil and Mrs. Crawley would never give Mairead away; as women, as well as nurses, they understood the value of secrecy when it came to this, and God bless them for that. Neither of them owed Mairead anything, and yet they'd offered to take care of her and keep her secret. They were nurses who had no doubt seen this kind of horror in their respective hospitals, and there was also no doubt that Mairead would be in good hands, even after Tom and Sybil had to return to Ireland.

It was Thomas that had Tom worried, though he had to admit how thankful he was that the valet had been wandering by the Apollo Room when he did, or else they might have found Mairead in a much worse shape than they did. Without Thomas's help, perhaps, no one would've found her at all, and Tom knew Mairead well enough to know that she would keep it to herself, and even worse, close herself off to anyone who picked up on what had happened and tried to do anything about it.

The thought of Mairead trying to get by on her own after...after being attacked like that made Tom's stomach turn over, and he felt as if he might retch if he wasn't careful.

"Tom, are you feeling alright?" Matthew asked, and Tom felt the other man's hand on his shoulder, holding him steady. "Do you need to sit down? A drink, perhaps?"

A drink sounded wonderful, and Tom almost accepted the offer.

What held him back was something his mother had told Kieran after his wife died, about how one drink led to another, and before you knew it, you were practically drowning at the bottom of a bottle, with no one to blame but yourself.

Mairead didn't deserve that from him, and Tom knew it wouldn't solve anything if he chose to get drunk instead of facing the situation at hand.

"Are you sure you're feeling well?" The hand on Tom's shoulder tightened its grip, and before Tom could protest, Matthew was helping him sit on the front steps of the Abbey before settling himself beside Tom. "You look as if you've seen a ghost, and you nearly fell over just now."

_I've seen worse than a ghost, _Tom thought, staring at the gravel beneath his feet. _I just saw one of the strongest young women I know, who I love and would protect as fiercely as I would my wife, hurt so deeply that she could hardly bear to be touched by me, who she loves and trusts as much as her own brothers. Compared to that, a ghost is nothing. _

He didn't, however, give voice to these thoughts. He didn't want to drag his brother-in-law into this, not until Mairead had given her consent to involve a man she no doubt thought of as her future employer in something that could very well get her dismissed. That would only betray her trust, something Tom never wanted to risk doing ever again.

"What kind of employer do you think you'll be?" Tom asked, not quite realizing what he'd said until he'd said it. "When you're the Earl of Grantham, I mean. How will you treat the staff here?"

"As fairly as I can, I suppose," Matthew answered, furrowing his brows. "Why do you ask?"

Why did he ask?

Perhaps he was genuinely curious. After all, it wasn't every day that he had the chance to talk to the heir to an estate where he'd worked, and he knew he wouldn't get this chance again. There were few who had such an opportunity, or perhaps he was the only one under his exact circumstances, which allowed him to find value in Matthew's answer, or maybe it was the curiosity that had spurred him to become a journalist. These things interested him, if he was being honest, and maybe he wanted to prove to himself that not every member of the aristocracy's next generation would be like their forefathers.

Perhaps he was asking for Mairead's sake, and for the sake of any future others like her under Downton's roof. He wanted to know if his cousin would be in good hands- better hands, even- when Matthew inherited the estate and the title. There was no question of Matthew's competence, but would Matthew handle something like what happened to Mairead in a fair, just manner? Tom had no doubts that Matthew would, but he needed the assurance that his cousin would be in good hands.

"Curious, I suppose."

"Is that all?" Matthew asked, watching Tom with those sharp blue eyes of his. "That can't be it, Tom. There's got to be more. Come on, tell me."

Tom took a deep breath.

This was his chance, he realized. He could ask Matthew what he would do in a situation like the one Tom now found himself in, though he would have to keep everything purely hypothetical, at least until he could talk to Mairead about it.

"Okay," he said. "You've got me. There is more."

"And that would be…? Come on Tom, you're being just as tricky as Mary."

He couldn't help but laugh a little at the comparison. "Don't let her hear you calling her that," he warned, the teasing tone in his voice half-hearted at best. "I doubt she'd like it."

"I won't, don't worry," Matthew assured him. "Now tell me what has you asking questions like that, Tom. Has something happened that has you worried?"

"No," Tom said, the lie coming as easily as the truth might. "But say...say one of the servants was...attacked." He didn't dare say "raped," because he knew he would be questioned further if he was that specific about it, and he would risk giving Mairead away.

"What do you mean, "attacked?""

"By a guest...you know…"

"No, I don't," Matthew said, and Tom wasn't sure if he was feigning confusion or if he was genuinely confused. "But carry on nonetheless."

Tom swallowed. "If one of the servants was attacked by a guest, here, under your roof, what would you do?"

"I would see to it that the servant was taken care of first, and I would wait to take further action until I knew as much of one side as I did the other before I made any choices from there," Matthew said, still watching Tom closely.

"Whose testimony would you believe more?"

"Excuse me?"

"Who would you believe- the servant, or the guest?"

Tom's stomach wound itself into a tight knot as he anticipated Matthew's answer. He knew that most would believe the guest, because they were, without question, of a higher class than the servant, and that usually led people to believe that they could only speak the truth. Even Tom had thought such a thing when he was younger, before he knew anything of the working world. The servants were thought of as a conniving, lesser breed than their social betters, hungry enough for money that they would dare to claim to have been assaulted by a visiting friend of their employers, or their employer, if they were audacious enough, if it meant a couple hundred pounds to get them to "keep quiet." Tom knew this to be untrue, at least in the sense that _all _servants were that way. Some of them were, perhaps, but not all of them.

"Tom, why are you asking these questions?"

"No reason. I'm just curious." _And worried for Mairead. _

"Tom, that can't be it. There's got to be a reason," Matthew said, resting his elbows on his thighs and shifting his weight forward. "Did something happen?"

"I need to take a drive," Tom said, suddenly feeling as if the air surrounding Downton was going to crush him under its weight. "Can you tell Mary I'm sorry, I just need to-"

"I'm coming with you then," Matthew interrupted, his tone firm enough that Tom knew there was no point in arguing with him about it. "I won't talk, I promise, but I don't think you need to be out on the road by yourself, not like this."

"Fine." He just wanted to get away from here, feel the wind in his hair and get all of the anxiety that he felt building up in his body out. He needed to get out, away from this place, the place where his cousin had suffered so much in such a short time. "Thank you," he added, giving Matthew an appreciative (though rather half-hearted) smile.

* * *

After half an hour of speeding down the wider roads, letting the wind rush by, and maybe even trying to outrun it, Tom and Matthew arrived at Crawley House.

Tom didn't know why he'd chosen the residence of Mrs. Crawley as his final destination; he wasn't due to pick Sybil up for another couple of hours at least, and he hoped he and Matthew would be welcome nonetheless, though it didn't seem likely. All he could do was hope, he supposed, hope that Mairead was well enough for him to see her, and that she wouldn't be as afraid of him as she'd been earlier.

When Mrs. Crawley came to the door, Tom noticed that she'd changed into a more simple dress than the one she'd been wearing at the wedding, and the fabric was the grey-tinged lavender that he associated with her and her gentle spirit. "Tom, I wasn't expecting you so early," she said, ushering them inside before her eyes fixated on Matthew. "What are you doing here?"

Her tone wasn't accusatory, but rather, surprised, and with good reason. There hadn't been any talk of pressing charges since she'd finished with the basic question of "who" and left Mairead to rest while she handled getting permission to keep Mairead for a week, and then work from there. There had been the silent agreement that the matter of pressing charges or other legal action was Mairead's decision, and no one else's. That was where they left it, and where it would be left, until Mairead said otherwise.

"I didn't want Tom to be out driving on his own, Mother," Matthew said, tilting his head to the side in an expression of almost childlike confusion. "You changed. Why?"

"That's not important, my dear boy," Mrs. Crawley was quick to say as she reached to take Matthew's hand. "Come, have a seat in the parlor and I'll see what can be done in the way of tea and cakes. Tom, go ahead upstairs. Sybil should be there."

Tom didn't wait to see Mrs. Crawley lead her son away from the entry hall and into the parlor, so he could sneak upstairs like a criminal, as if she hadn't given him her permission. He went straight on up, taking the stairs carefully, one at a time, with his hand gripping the bannister almost for dear life. He dreaded reaching the top, where he knew he would find Mairead in the guest room, no doubt with Sybil by her side, keeping watch like a guardian angel, and it was this he dreaded facing. He couldn't face her, not after he'd failed her as much as he had. He could barely face the thought of it without wanting to turn away.

Still, he made it up the steps and knocked on a door he thought belonged to the guest room. "Sybil? Mairead? May I come in? It's Tom."

He heard Sybil speak to Mairead, the exact words indecipherable because of his wife's soft tone, but he guessed that she was comforting Mairead, assuring her that he wasn't going to hurt her, which made his stomach drop.

The door opened a crack, so Tom could only see Sybil, and not the room beyond.

"You're early," she said, opening the door wider, but still barring his entry.

"Mrs. Crawley said I could come up and see her," Tom told her, shifting his weight forward, onto the balls of his feet, so maybe he could see past his wife and into the room, hoping for a glimpse of Mairead. "May I?"

The door opened wider, but it was still clear that he was not allowed in. "Yes, you may," Sybil said, letting him in after a moment's pause. "Be careful, though. Mrs. Crawley gave her something to help her calm down, but I'm not sure how much it's helping."

"But she will get better, right?"

"Tom, it's...it's complicated, alright? Just come in if that's what you're going to do, and be with her." Sybil opened the door so Tom could enter, and she stepped to the side before heading straight to Mairead's side.

Tom's attention went straight to Mairead, who was, as Tom had suspected, lying in the bed with her head propped up and the bedclothes tucked loosely around her. The right side of her face, which had been an angry red before, had turned a tender pink, and Tom could tell it was beginning to swell a little. Along her jaw, the bruises had deepened their color, and now there was no denying that they were from being held tight, the way you catch a dog by the jaw to keep it from biting you.

"Tom," Sybil said, her eyes meeting his, though he could tell his wife's attention was on Mairead. "Come take a seat. There's a chair by the window."

He nodded and went to retrieve the wicker chair that was where she'd told him it would be, trying to make as little noise as possible. He set it beside Sybil, and waited for further instructions from his wife.

"Mairead, Tom's here to see you," Sybil told the young woman, reaching out to gently brush the hair from her face.

"Hello _a stóirín._" He scooted forward in his chair, and held out a hand for Mairead to take if she wanted to.

Surprisingly, she placed her hand in his, and wrapped her fingers around the side. "Tom," she said, a small, sad smile unfolding across her lips. "I'm sorry...I didn't mean to...I told him no, I should've fought harder, I should've let him have what he wanted, I should've-"

"Mairead, listen to me," Tom said, doing his best not to cry, or to seem as if he was angry with her, because he most certainly was not. If anything, he was angry with Nathaniel Downing, though "angry" didn't begin to cover it there- he was _furious_ that someone would dare to lay a hand on his cousin in that way. "Mairead, you don't have anything t'be sorry for, understand? You did everything right, my brave, strong, darling. What happened to you was not your fault. You're innocent, and I know that, and Sybil knows that, so do Mrs. Crawley and Thomas."

"But...but before, in Manchester, I let him think-"

"You didn't let him think anything," he said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "It was his fault then, just like it was today. You never did anything wrong, so don't let yourself believe you did."

She returned the squeeze, and tried to sit up. "_An féidir leat a shealbhú dom?_*" she asked, falling back against the pillows.

"Here," Sybil said, gently sliding her hands under Mairead's body and helping her sit. She then looked to Tom. "What did she say?"

"She wants me to hold her," he told his wife, inching the chair even closer, trying to get close enough to Mairead that he could somehow hold her, as she'd asked.

"Get up on the bed then," Sybil instructed, patting an unoccupied spot on the mattress.

Tom did as he was told, and as soon as he settled himself on the mattress, he felt Mairead's body against his, her arms looped around his neck and the side of her face- the left side- resting against his chest. "May I touch you?" he asked, though he already had a hand on the small of her back.

She nodded, and held still as he cupped the back of her head, supporting her head as you were supposed to support a child's. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice trembling, as if she was about to cry.

"There's nothing to be sorry for," he told her, rubbing gentle, wide, circles on her back. "You did the best you could, and now all that's left to do is be as strong and as brave as I know you can be. You're a fighter, Mairead, and there are no greater fighters in the world than the Irish, right?"

She nodded. "Right."

"That's my girl," Tom said, a small smile creeping across his lips as he kissed her forehead. "I promise that no harm'll ever come to you again. I wasn't there this time, I know, but I swear, I'll be there whenever you need me. You don't deserve this, _a stóirín, _no one does."

His mother had warned him about making promises he couldn't keep, but he knew he would keep this one. He had to- for Mairead's sake.

There was a knock on the door, and Sybil went to get it, leaving Tom alone with Mairead, who had pulled herself out from under the covers and now sat with her legs tucked beneath her and her body still pressed to Tom's.

"Don't tell Mrs. Hayes," she said, looking up at him, her eyes ringed with red, either from exhaustion or from crying, Tom couldn't tell. "She'll tell me I deserved it, that I don't belong in a great house, that I don't belong in service. She'll say I ought t'go find work in a workhouse, 'cause they'll be the only one's who'll take a ruined woman like me."

Tom's chest tightened, and he adjusted his hold on Mairead, trying to scoop her into his lap, like his mother had done with him when he was a child. "You are not ruined," he told her. "And you are not going t'have t'find work in a workhouse, I promise you that too. You can always come live with us in Ireland if you can't find work here, and we're certain to find work for you there. You'll never have t'set foot in a workhouse, and your mother'll never have t'know what happened today."

"Thank you," she said, lifting her head from where she'd been resting it, her attention fixating on the door.

Tom followed her gaze to Sybil, who held the door closed behind her. "Sybil," he said, furrowing his brows.

She ignored his confusion and came to sit on the bed, so Mairead was between them, two people who loved her very much and would do anything for her. "Matthew's downstairs," she said, watching Mairead closely.

Even though what she'd said was a statement of the obvious, Tom knew what this meant. "Mairead, Mr. Matthew's downstairs, and if you want, he'll listen to what happened and help decide what to do next," he said, not making any move to bring her attention over to him. "Do you want to talk with him?"

Oh God, why did this have to be so hard?

Tom wanted her to say yes, so they could start to take action against Nathaniel, but he wouldn't force her. He'd promised not to force her.

The silence seemed to drag on forever, until Mairead finally said something.

"Yes," she said, turning to meet Tom's eyes, then Sybil's, and then Tom's again, where her attention stayed. "I'll talk to him."

"I'll help her dress," Sybil said, sliding off the bed. "She can't speak with him dressed like this. Tom, go down and tell Cousin Isobel that Mairead will talk, and wait downstairs. I'll take care of Mairead."

* * *

Tom found Mrs. Crawley outside of the guest room, her hands clasped in front of her.

"Will she see Matthew?" the woman asked as soon as the door was shut between them and the room.

Tom nodded. "She will," he said. "Thank you, Mrs. Crawley, for everything."

"Don't thank me, Tom," she was quick to say, starting down the hall with Tom not far behind. "The physical damage isn't hard to handle, and she'll be in tip-top shape in no time in that regard. It's what's left behind- the emotional damage- that will take the longest time to heal."

"Mrs. Crawley...what if...what if Mairead's pregnant?"

He'd heard of women who'd become pregnant after being raped, and some of them had been close to his family. He couldn't bear the thought of such a thing happening to Mairead- after all she'd endured, to have to carry her attacker's child….that would be too much, even for one such as Mairead.

She stopped in her tracks. "We won't know for certain just yet," she told him, the flatness of her tone almost painful to hear. "But when we do, and if she is...with child, I will do everything in my power to help her, you have my word, but you, of all people, cannot abandon her, do you understand?"

He nodded.

The thought of him abandoning Mairead now, of all times, was absurd.

"Yes ma'am."

* * *

***Can you hold me?**

**A/N: Thank you so much for reading, and I hope I'm not the cause of too much distress (it's very distressing to write this, believe me), but it will get better...eventually. Not now, but eventually. **

**As usual, please let me know what you think, what I could do better, or what you would like to see. Feedback of any sort is always very much appreciated. **

**Thank you~**


	41. No One is Alone

**A/N: Here's Chapter 41...**

**Not much to say, except for the continued thanks, for your support, for putting up with all of this, that sort of stuff. Thank you, my dear readers, for everything. **

**Now, I'm going to be a bit more paranoid than usual and go ahead and put a trigger warning for mentions of rape because this chapter and the one that is to follow do contain flashbacks to the events of Chapter 39, as well as some other things that will be discussed in the preface to the next chapter. So, without further ado: **

*****Trigger Warning: Mentions of Rape*****

**Disclaimer: I do not own Downton Abbey...most unfortunately.**

* * *

"Now, Mr. Matthew's going to ask you some questions, Mairead, and all you've got to do is answer them," Sybil said as she helped Mairead into the simple, dark grey dress that she'd brought with her to Crawley House. "Tom and I will be with you the whole time, so you needn't be frightened, and Mrs. Crawley'll be there too."

Mairead nodded. "And he won't...he won't tell His Lordship or Mrs. Hughes?" she asked, pressing her lips together as Sybil pulled a brush through her hair.

"No, he won't, and neither will Mrs. Crawley, Thomas, or myself," she assured the younger woman, pulling Mairead's hair into a loose ponytail. "You can trust him, Mairead. He wants to help."

Again, Mairead nodded, and allowed Sybil to place her hand on her shoulder and guide her down the hallway, towards the parlor, where she knew Tom would be waiting, and Mr. Matthew as well. She couldn't do it, no matter how many times Sybil assured her that it would be alright, that Mr. Matthew would keep her secret, and no one would have to know.

What if it wasn't alright?

What if Mr. Matthew decided that she was a disgrace, that she would only soil the Crawley name and the title he was set to inherit with what had happened to her, and ought to be dismissed?

She would leave, of course, but where would she go?

Would she become a fallen woman, like Ethel was rumored to have become after leaving service?

And what if she was pregnant? What then?

She was hardly fit to raise a child, with her experience, never mind too young! She was a couple of days from being twenty, for Christ's sake! She couldn't raise a child properly.

"Mairead? Mairead, listen to me."

Where would she go, her and her child? They couldn't travel- she wasn't sure she had enough money to do that- and she couldn't get decent work if she had a child to look after. If she couldn't make a decent sum, she couldn't raise her child, and she'd have to go to a workhouse, that was the only way.

"Mairead, you need to calm down. Everything's fine. You're safe, no one's going to hurt you. You're going to be okay, you just need to breathe, okay. In...out...In...out. That's it."

"What if...what if I'm pregnant?" Mairead asked, stopping in her tracks and sinking to the floor. "I can't...I can't…"

Sybil crouched beside Mairead, keeping a firm grip on her shoulders. "Don't worry about that now," she said, shaking her head. "Focus on me. Focus on taking deep breaths, come on darling. That's it, you've got it. I'm going to touch you right now, okay? Just to check your pulse. You keep breathing, just like that. In...out...In...out...You're doing splendidly. That's a good girl."

She did as she was told, counting to six as she inhaled, holding for an unsteady five, and exhaling on a count of six, her eyes fixed on Sybil, who was watching the second hand on the grandfather clock not far from where Mairead had collapsed.

"I can't do it," she said, bowing her head.

"Nonsense," Sybil said, lifting Mairead's head with two gentle fingers beneath her chin. "You can. You are stronger than you think you are, Mairead. You can overcome this, I know you can. Tom knows you can."

"I'm scared."

"I know you are, darling." Sybil caressed Mairead's left cheek before pulling her close to her body. "But you don't have to be alone. No one is alone, especially not you. I know it must feel like that, but believe me, you're not alone. Tom and I will be with you every step of the way, and that's a promise."

"You can't make promises like that."

"Yes I can, because I will always try my very hardest to keep them," Sybil said, rising to her feet and holding out a hand to Mairead. "Now shall we go talk with Mr. Matthew? You take your time, but he's waiting for us."

Mairead reached for Sybil's hand and pulled herself to her feet, wiping away the tears that had slid down her swollen cheek with her free hand, and wincing when she accidentally pressed too hard. "Feck," she muttered, cupping her hand over the tender flesh, which had begun to throb and sting again, as if Nathaniel had slapped her again.

"I'll ask Mrs. Crawley for a cool cloth once you're settled," Sybil promised as they resumed their path to the parlor, where they halted just in front of the closed door so Sybil could help Mairead straighten her appearance.

"Sybil."

"Yes?"

"I'm scared."

She was more than scared. She was terrified.

Sharing what had happened would dredge up the memories that she'd tried to carefully bury over the hours that had passed between then and now. It would mean reliving those horrible forty minutes of fighting and protesting and being abused all over again, and under the scrutiny of the man who was to be her future employer as well! She couldn't do that, she doubted anyone could. What dignity she had left wouldn't allow her to do it, no sir.

"Don't be. I'm going to be right beside you, the entire time, alright? Mr. Matthew'll start with the basic things. Your name, where you're from, and the like. That'll let you ease into the other questions, alright?"

Mairead nodded, taking a deep breath to steady herself. "Yes, I think I do."

Sybil patted Mairead on the shoulder. "That's my girl. Now remember, don't be afraid, and, no matter what, tell the truth. Mr. Matthew only wants to help, and the truth is the easiest way to do that, remember."

"Yes Sybil."

"Let's go in then. We haven't got all day, now have we?"

_No, we don't, _thought Mairead. _But this is going to be a long one._

* * *

**A/N: Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you are ready for the next chapter, because it could get a bit bumpy. **

**Now, what's always appreciated is a review or two from you, my dear reader(s). Always makes my day to see someone comment on something I did (intentionally or otherwise) in the story, and just to know how you think I'm handling plots like this, or my historical points, what I'm getting wrong or right. Or what you like to see, don't like to see, you know. **

**Anyways, reviews are welcome, and thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this installment of _A Patch of Clover. _**


	42. Questions and Answers

**A/N: So the trigger warning from last chapter kind of carries over here too, gonna put that down by the disclaimer: **

*****Trigger Warning: mentions of rape/sexual assault*****

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Downton Abbey_.**

* * *

Mairead took a deep breath as Sybil opened the door into the parlor, steeling herself for whatever questions Mr. Matthew might have for her about what had happened. She could feel her body trembling as she was guided to the couch where Tom was sitting, but she willed herself to maintain the air of calm that she prided herself in.

_There's no backing out now,_ she told herself as Sybil helped her sit beside her cousin, who offered her a shawl- the one Isibéal had sent her for Christmas in 1917, she realized- which she let him wrap around her shoulders. _You only have to tell him what he asks for, and nothing more. _

Mr. Matthew followed her with his eyes- carefully, not in the same predatory way Nathaniel had- which Mairead noticed were almost the same blue as Tom's, though not really. Tom's eyes were blue like the sky on one of the rare spring days when there wasn't any rain or fog, just clear sky as far as the eye can see, and sunshine warm on the cheeks of children or on the backs of lovers by the lakeshore. Mr. Matthew's eyes were the quick, sharp blue of ice or glass, the kind that some might call "piercing," though Mairead saw a certain softness in them, which she found reassuring.

"Shall we begin?" Mr. Matthew asked once Sybil was seated beside Mairead, inching his chair forward so there wasn't so much space between them. "I'm sure Sybil already told you, but I'm going to explain again just so there's no confusion."

Mairead nodded, though she wasn't sure if she was glad for the delay or not.

"I'm going to start with easy questions- your name, where you're from, and where you're currently working- and then we'll go from there," he explained, maintaining eye contact with her as if she was the only person in the room. "Go ahead. Just your name, where you're from, and where you're currently working. Take your time."

"M'name's Mairead Hayes"- _Sound like you've got a decent education- you're talking to a future earl, not a farm boy!_\- "I'm from Glendalough, County Wicklow, Republic of Ireland, and-"

"Ireland," Tom interjected. "She meant Ireland. Just Ireland."

"Tom, just let her talk," Sybil said, shaking her head before turning her attention to Mairead. "Continue, darling."

"I work as a housemaid at Downton Abbey," Mairead said, finishing her answer. There was no need to specify where Downton was- it was down the road, and they'd all just come from there.

"How old are you, Miss Hayes?"

It was the...twenty-second of March, wasn't it? "I'll be twenty in three days, sir," she answered, and she heard Tom let out a quiet hiss beside her, while a quick, pained look crossed Sybil's face.

"I see." Mr. Matthew made a note of her answer on the papers he had in front of him, his lips pressed together in a tight line. "How long have you been working at Downton?"

"A little over four years."

_This isn't so bad, _Mairead thought as she watched him, her attention flicking to Tom, and then to Sybil. This was only the beginning, she knew that, only routine questions, but it helped her to trust Mr. Matthew, who, until now, had only been counted among her employers, and he was just as distant they were.

"And before Downton?"

She met his eyes, color rising in her cheeks when she realized how rude she must seem, to have looked away for a second, when he only wanted to help her. "I was a parlor maid, sir, in the Downings' house in Manchester," she said, her stomach twisting only slightly. She always got nervous like this when she talked about where she worked last- it wasn't anything she wasn't used to. "For… two years."

"And why, if you don't mind my asking, did you leave the Downings' for Downton?"

"My mother was the housekeeper in the Downings' home, and I didn't think it would be fair if I was working under the same roof, where there might be questions of her giving me special treatment because of our relationship."

This was a lie, of course.

Mrs. Hayes had never so much as turned her head when Mairead was in the room, nor had she ever risen to defend her daughter as you might expect. She was a hard woman to impress, even harder if you were one of her children, and she no doubt prided herself in how she treated her housemaids equally, if a bit firmly.

"Is that all?"

"I wanted to...see how I could do on my own, in a larger house," she added, recalling that this was what she'd told Mrs. Hughes when she'd interviewed for the post she now clung to.

Mr. Matthew took a deep breath and rocked back a little in his chair, his pen and paper abandoned for a moment while he seemed to be collecting himself, or perhaps he was preparing himself to ask the questions he was here to ask. "Has anyone on the staff at Downton ever made unwanted...advances towards you?"

She shook her head, and she felt her stomach flutter- just a little, not enough to have her worry. "No sir."

"Anyone on the staff at the Downings' home?"

"No sir." She felt her stomach tightening, and she could feel the first few pinpricks of adrenaline in her blood.

"Have any members of the Crawley family or their guests made unwanted advances towards you since you came to Downton?"

She swallowed, breaking eye contact with the solicitor long enough to see that Tom was about to set his hand on her knee, which she allowed him to do, glad for the reassurance of his presence. "Yes...yes sir," she answered, trying to meet his gaze once again, searching for the reassuring softness that she'd found earlier.

"Was it a guest or a family member?"

"A guest."

"Can you tell me who and when?"

The knot that her stomach had begun to twist itself into pulled tight, and Mairead's entire body seemed to go taut. "Yes."

"Then go ahead."

"It was today, about an hour after you and Lady Mary got back from the chapel."

"And the guest in question?"

There was no mistaking the unease in Mr. Matthew's voice, wavering tone that betrayed his own shock. No doubt he thought Downton as safe as Mairead had, or at least more above that kind of thing than the Downings' house was.

She felt her muscles tighten, ready to whisk her away from here and back to the safety of Mrs. Crawley's guest room. No one would hurt her there. Sybil wouldn't let them.

"Miss Hayes, please answer the question. What is the name of the guest who made these advances?"

"Nathaniel." She had to force the name out, before she could second-guess herself. "Nathaniel Downing."

"Can you describe what kind of advances Mr. Downing made?" If she'd dared to look anywhere but his eyes, Mairead would've seen Mr. Matthew's posture suddenly go as rigid as her own, though perhaps, more obvious was how some color seemed to drain from his face at this news.

She felt the sudden need to have Tom's hand off of her body, either because she was suddenly feeling as if her limbs were already weighed down, or because she didn't want him to feel her shaking. She pushed weakly at his hand, and he obliged, the weight on her leg disappearing, though something within her seemed to weigh heavier than before.

"He...he…" _Oh for God's sake, spit it out and get it done with!_"...He..."

Mr. Matthew let out a long sigh. "Let's try a different question," he said, leaning forward, the pen and paper abandoned off to the side. "Did Mr. Downing rape you?"

The air in the parlor seemed to suddenly grow heavy, and, Mairead wasn't sure if it was her imagination or a cloud passing across the sun, the room seemed to darken significantly.

It was as if she was sitting in the courtroom in York, though instead of being at the trial of a colleague, it was her own trial, and there was no way for her to plead "not guilty," the same way it had been for Mr. Bates. It wouldn't matter what she said- if she lied and said no, that Nathaniel didn't rape her, she would be labeled as an attention-seeking, scheming papist, but what if she told the truth, and said yes? What then? She would be sacked, and never be able to get a respectable job anywhere ever again. She'd be a fallen woman without ever having to take a man to bed, willing or otherwise.

_Don't be afraid, and, no matter what, tell the truth. Mr. Matthew only wants to help, and the truth is the easiest way to do that, _Sybil had said, hadn't she?

"Yes," she said, recoiling at the sound of her voice (was that her voice?) as it betrayed her. No, she'd wanted to lie. Wanted to say that no, that was not what happened. She wanted to give the hasty excuse that she'd given five years ago, the excuse Elliot Grant knew was a lie, but everyone else, including her mother, took to be the truth.

Again, Mr. Matthew shifted his weight back, as if the air outside of the four-person ring was lighter than the air within. "And has...and had he...attacked you before?"

She swallowed, trying to compose herself, before Sybil could swoop in and embarrass her in front of Mr. Matthew by fussing over her. "No," she said. "But he almost...he almost did. Christmas Eve of nineteen-fifteen."

Beside her, Tom stiffened, and Mairead could hear his sudden intake of breath. "Matthew, I think that's all for today, if you don't mind," he said, standing, and, as if he was Mr. Carson and the rest of them were the junior staff, everyone else was quick to follow suit, Mairead included. "Thank you so much."

"Of course. As I said, if I can help, I'm glad to help." His attention rested on Mairead. "This is all in strictest confidence, I assure you. This stays between us four and my mother, you have my word."

"No," Mairead said, not sure what compelled her to speak out. She could feel the fear taking hold, but she didn't want to drag this out. She wanted this over and done with, now. "Tom, I can do this. Please."

Her cousin looked at her, almost as if he was about to chastise her, and tell her that she couldn't continue, but a sharp glare from Sybil quieted whatever he was about to say.

"If you insist," he said, sitting back down, and everyone followed suit.

"Yes," Mairead said, nodding slowly. "I do."

"Go ahead then," Tom said, and she knew he was trying to encourage her- she could hear him trying- but she also heard a slight impatience in his voice as he spoke.

"It's alright," Sybil said, as if sensing Mairead's apprehension.

Mairead nodded, glad for Sybil's reassurance. "It was the night of Mr. Downing's annual Christmas Gala," she began, curling her hands into fists in her lap, but somehow managing to maintain eye contact with Mr. Matthew as she spoke. "The year was nineteen-fifteen, so it was a smaller party than usual."

"Yes, I remember that well," Mr. Matthew said, then, realizing that he'd interrupted, he ducked his head to cover the color that was rising in his cheeks. "Do continue."

"Well, Mr. Matthew, perhaps you'll remember I was there."

His eyes lit up- God alone knew what he was thinking, what connection was being made. "You were Nathaniel's guest, weren't you? The one Cecil said was going to make Mr. Downing livid with rage or something like that?"

Mairead felt heat rise in her cheeks, and she clenched her jaw. "Yes. That was me," she said flatly.

Oh, how she wished that day could be forgotten!

He'd made a show of her that night, and, fool that she was, she'd let him. Oh, if only she could relive that night, go back and give him a piece of her mind now. Maybe that would teach him that she wasn't one to be fussed with.

"The details of the dinner I know then, but did something happen afterwards?"

She felt her blush deepen, and both Tom and Sybil shifted uneasily next to her. She'd be explaining to them the "details of the dinner" at some point, she was sure of it. "Yes."

"But it was averted, you say?"

"Yes. A footman- Elliot Grant- he found me before Nathaniel...before Nathaniel…Feck…" She should've felt the panic edging its way back into her blood, coiling around her muscles and in her gut like some kind of snake, she should've been able to swallow it before it gripped her so tightly, before her grip on things slipped like it was now.

"Mairead. Mairead darling." Sybil held both of her hands, and rubbed small circles with her thumbs as she spoke softly to Mairead. "It's okay. You're safe."

"Perhaps I should be going," Mr. Matthew said, and Mairead felt Tom stand up, so Mr. Matthew must've stood up as well. "Tom, stay with her. I'll talk with you when you and Sybil get home tonight, and we'll decide where to go from there."

"Thank you, Matthew. You have no idea how much this means to me, and to Mairead."

"Like I said- we've got to stick together. Now, if you'll excuse me, I fear I might have to have a few choice words with Nathaniel, and perhaps even his father."

"No, don't!" Mairead said suddenly. "Please...don't do anything, not yet."

If Mr. Downing found out, then her mother would find out, and then God knew what terrors would rain down upon her then. She didn't want to face it, not as long as she could avoid it. Her mother didn't need to know. No one needed to know but the people in this room, and Mr. Barrow.

"Mairead, then what's the point of all this if you're not going to press charges?" Tom demanded, the impatience and frustration surfacing in his voice, even though his expression was still neutral, unreadable.

"I am not...pressing charges," she said, pulling herself from Sybil's gentle grip and standing.

She probably looked rather silly, one side of her face swollen, her voice hoarse even though she wasn't even screaming, just raising her voice, and how she was a child compared to these men.

"Why not, Mairead? Nathaniel _raped_ you, don't you understand? Don't you want justice?"

Mairead looked to Mr. Matthew, wishing that he would just leave, that Tom, as much as she loved and trusted him, would just leave, at least for now. "Of course I understand!" she exclaimed, her hands curling into fists at her side. "But it's not something I can be free of, just like that."

She would _never _be free of Nathaniel, she knew that much. Never, not in a thousand years, or a thousand lifetimes.

"Yes you can," Tom said, his hands darting out to catch Mairead by her elbows. "Listen to me Mairead, let me do something good for you, please! I failed you once, I can't do that again."

"Don't touch me!" Mairead shrieked, thrashing in his hold.

Mr. Matthew placed a hand on Tom's shoulder, trying to pull the other man away. "Come on Tom," he said, clearly unsure about what to do. "Let's go back."

Tom released Mairead, and she swore that she saw prints on her arms from where he'd held her.

How could he? After everything she'd been through in the last few hours, how could he, who swore he'd never hurt her, do such a thing? Whatever happened to letting her make the choices here?

She was nearly twenty, for Christ's sake! She could handle her own life, and just because she'd been overpowered by a man two years her senior, didn't mean that she needed to be sheltered like a child and have her decisions made for her.

"I need a drink," was all Tom said before turning to go, leaving Mairead with Sybil in the parlor, both women too stunned to speak.

"I'll send a car for you, Sybil," Matthew said, giving Sybil a curt nod.

"I think," Sybil began, going to Mairead's side. "I think I shall stay here, Cousin Matthew, though it's awfully kind of you to offer. I really ought to help your mother with Mairead."

"Of course. Good day to you then."

* * *

**A/N: Well...that escalated quickly. We all know Tom means well, I hope, and if not, yes, he was a bit of an insensitive jerk here...Anyways, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Reviews are always welcome (why wouldn't they be?), so let me know how I'm doing? **

**We will return to your regular programing, so have no fear, we just have to get around this first. One or two more chapters at least, I think, and then the major angst is over and we're closer to Sybil dying! Okay, maybe that's more angst, but...y'know. That also means that the Sybil Lives! AU for _Clover_ will be coming soon to a fanfiction archive near you, so keep those heads held high my friends! **

**Thank you~ **


	43. Evening Still

**A/N: So here's Chapter 43! **

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Downton Abbey_**

* * *

It didn't take much effort for Sybil to coax Mairead back onto the couch once the sound of the Renault's engine faded into the distance.

There was still tension lingering in the parlor, and Sybil wished she could open one of the windows and air out the room, as if that would remove the persistent tightness that filled the room. She knew it would help Mairead, who, after a little while, had lain her head in Sybil's lap and appeared to be asleep.

She looked so peaceful, the tension in her body mostly gone, which softened her features and made her seem ten years younger than she was- so childlike, so innocent. Her hair followed the curve of her back, like a dark red river filling a groove of dark grey stone, flowing towards some unknown ocean, and Sybil was tempted to run her fingers over the dark waves, though she resisted the temptation, afraid that she might wake the younger woman if she gave in. Instead, Sybil contented herself to watch the stuttering rise and fall of Mairead's chest, thanking God as she did that the girl's sleep was a peaceful one.

Down the road, she could hear the bells of the parish chime the hour- six in the evening- and she thought about what would be happening back at Downton as the sound of the sixth chime faded.

The servants would be preparing dinner, no doubt, while her family bid the rest of the wedding guests who weren't staying at the Abbey farewell and a safe journey to wherever they'd come from. Life at Downton was so predictable that way, and for once, Sybil was grateful that there wasn't any room for speculation.

* * *

The drive back to Downton was a silent one; Tom didn't seem inclined at all to discuss what had transpired at Crawley House, and Matthew respected his friend's silence, which allowed him to devote his attention to the road leading up to the great house.

Matthew drove slowly as the road became more narrow, his grip on the wheel tighter than it needed to be, if only to keep the Renault Tom had borrowed from the garage ("She's still my old girl," Matthew thought he'd heard the ex-chauffeur mutter on their way to the garage) in the center of the road and out of the side ditches.

_Today's seen enough tragedy, _he thought, his thoughts wandering back to what the young Irishwoman- Mairead, her name was Mairead- had told him in the parlor of Crawley House. His stomach rolled at the recollection of it all, and he almost pulled the car over once or twice, when he thought he might lose the contents of his stomach.

As the Abbey came into sight, Matthew slowed the car to an almost comical snail's pace, taking this time to collect himself.

No doubt Mary would want to know why he'd left so suddenly, as would Cousin Robert, and he had to prepare a good excuse, perhaps something about Tom not feeling well, especially after last night. It wouldn't be a lie- not really- and a quick glance at the Irishman proved that he did indeed look rather ill, which would only help his story. Whatever happened, he couldn't tell the full story of why he and Tom disappeared for well over two hours, and why Sybil wouldn't be coming home that evening, a task that might prove most difficult.

* * *

"Here you go," Isobel said, setting a bowl of broth in front of Mairead and stepping back so Sybil could take a seat next to the younger girl. "I'm going to go call on Dr. Clarkson and see if I can get a few things."

Sybil nodded and turned her attention to Mairead in time to see the young woman take a few sips of the broth before setting the spoon down and watching steam curl upwards in wispy grey ribbons, away from the pale yellow surface of the broth.

"Mairead, darling, you need to eat something," she said, leaving her chair only for a second so she could adjust Mairead's shawl before it slid off her shoulders. "You'll feel better if you do."

It was almost like she was working as a nurse at Downton again, during the war. If she had a pound for every time she had to sit with an officer to make sure they ate, why, she might've been very rich in her own right. It hadn't ever been something that bothered her, like it did some of the other nurses, and it hadn't taken long for her to learn the best ways to coerce her charges into finishing their meals. She would manage just as well- if not better- with Mairead as she had with the array of officers back from the front that she'd dealt with, of that she was more than certain.

"I'm not hungry," Mairead said, her shoulders curving inwards as she turned her attention away from the bowl, and off into some corner of the room.

"It'll get cold if you leave it there, and what a waste that'll be," Sybil said, trying to appeal to Mairead's practical nature. "Come on. Just finish off half of it and I'll stop fussing and you can go to bed."

If Tom was here, he would probably take up the spoon and feed her himself- an affectionate gesture, done out of love and concern, Sybil was sure, but she knew Mairead would balk under his attempts to care for her if he did that. Sybil wanted to avoid that approach as much as possible, so she relied on Mairead's common sense to win out, and spare them both a quarrel or two.

* * *

"I need a drink," Tom muttered as he stepped into the entry hall, his eyes darting around the empty space.

Matthew closed the door behind him and went to place his arm around Tom's shoulder, steering the broad-shouldered Irishman towards the library, where he knew there was a crystal decanter of scotch. He hoped the library would be empty, so he wouldn't have to explain his friend's especially ruffled state to anyone just yet, and so he could talk with Tom about what had happened at Crawley House and what would happen next.

"Let me," he said when they reached the library and Tom went to pour himself a glass of the decanter's contents. "You look as if you're about to fall over, and it'll do you some good to sit down, I promise."

"Thank you," Tom said, and Matthew caught sight of his hands trembling before the other man clasped them behind his back.

_Poor chap, _Matthew thought as he poured two glasses- one for himself, one for Tom- and went to sit beside his friend.

Tom accepted the glass with a mumbled "thank you," his eyes screwing shut as he tipped the glass back, swallowing all but a few drops of scotch in one go, while Matthew watched in stunned silence. Tom's livid cheeks regained some of their color, and his body lost its tension, releasing a sound like a diver coming up for air from the Irishman's lips.

"Dear God, Tom," Matthew said, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder once more, his glass of scotch untouched and most likely to end up forgotten. "Are you quite alright?"

The other man nodded, dark blond hair falling across his face, making him appear on the brink of collapse, which perhaps he was. "One more drink and I should be 'bout there," he said, opening his eyes and licking at his lips.

"One more drink and Sybil's likely to have my head," came Matthew's reply. "She'll have it anyways if she finds out I let you have one after last night."

"She worries too much."

"With good reason. She loves you, so naturally she cares."

"She worries. That's what she does. One small thing happens and suddenly I'm made of glass."

Matthew couldn't help but smile with a slight bitterness and nod in agreement. "That's what I thought, when I was hurt during the war," he mused. "But it's a testament of their love, I think, their fretting."

"How so?"

"Well, men are supposed to be the strong ones, the ones who always know what to do, how to take care of ourselves, aren't they? In novels, the heroine always marries the man who never lets his weakness show, who saves her. Nowhere does the heroine save the hero, because he doesn't need saving."

"I don't see where you're takin' this."

Matthew furrowed his brows, trying to find a way to skip to his point. "What I mean to say, is how lucky are we, that we both have wives who are willing to take care of us, and love us just the same, even when it's supposed to be us taking care of them?" he asked.

"Pretty damn lucky, I suppose."

"It's a rare thing, Tom, to have wives like ours."

"I'll take your word for it then," Tom said. "Now, how about another drink?"

* * *

Sybil sat outside the bathroom, her hands resting on the subtle round of her stomach, as she waited for Mairead to finish bathing.

She'd been sitting like this for half an hour, knocking gently on the door every so often to make sure that the young woman didn't need any help. She hadn't offered to come in and help, afraid that her offer would be met with hostility if she overstepped the boundaries Mairead had set up around herself without any clear definition as to what they were. She would wait to be asked, and even then, she would tread carefully, out of respect.

The sound of water splashing onto the floor, followed by quiet, though undoubtedly startled, cry, caught Sybil's attention, hurrying her to her feet.

"Mairead, I'm coming in," she announced, admitting herself into the bathroom and taking care not to step in a puddle and slip as she made her way to the bathtub, where she found the young woman in a half-sitting position with a one-handed grip on the rim of the tub and her legs sliding across the wet floor, while her other hand clutched a towel to her body, shielding her torso from sight.

"I'm fine," Mairead insisted, pulling herself into a more complete sitting position. "I slipped, tha's'all."

"Let me help you," Sybil said, not waiting for a response this time.

The instinct that she attributed her nursing skills to- an instinct she still didn't have a name for yet, even after all these years- took hold as she helped Mairead to her feet, sidestepping the large puddle that had been created when the young woman exited the tub, a small mess that Sybil allowed herself to leave for the singular housemaid that Cousin Isobel kept on staff. Right now, Mairead was her priority, not the state of the bathroom.

She helped Mairead wrap the towel around her body, and she winced when the young woman let out a cry as Sybil tucked the corner of the towel alongside her breast. "Sorry," she said, pulling away from Mairead to fetch the cotton dressing gown that hung on a wooden peg by the door, which she then offered to Mairead. "Here."

Mairead accepted the dressing gown and managed to put it on without any help from Sybil. She let it hang off her shoulders, and her gaze dropped to her feet.

_Not her feet, _Sybil realized. _Her stomach._

* * *

"What if she's pregnant?"

Matthew glanced at Tom, his brows drawn together. "Excuse me?"

"What if Mairead's pregnant?" the Irishman asked, squinting into the bottom of his glass before he turned it over in his hands. "What happens then?"

Matthew bit his lip. "Tom, what happened to Mairead was horrible, and I'm sorry for the role I played in the whole thing, inviting Nathaniel."

"Don't be. You couldn't've known, could'ya? If anyone's t'blame, it's me."

"Tom, don't say that," Matthew was quick to say, shaking his head. "I don't see why you would say that."

"I wasn't there when she needed me. I failed her. I'm supposed t'protect her. It's because I thought she would be safe here…"

"And she will be," Matthew assured his friend, though even he doubted his words. "No more harm is going to come to her. She's in good hands- Mother knows what she's doing, and Sybil clearly loves her very much."

"But what if she blames me?"

"She won't, I'm sure." He placed a hand on Tom's knee, trying to comfort him. "You're trying to help her, and I'm sure she sees that, even if she isn't clear about it," he added, referring to the exchange that had prompted their departure from Crawley House."

"We have to go back to Dublin in two days," Tom muttered. "Who'll look after her then? And what if someone finds out and she's dismissed?"

"I will do my best to prevent that, should it happen," Matthew promised. "You have my word. And if nothing can be done, I'm certain Mother won't hesitate to intervene on her behalf."

"And if she's pregnant?"

"Tom, you don't know…"

"But what if? She doesn't know how t'raise a child, and we both know Mr. Carson won't stand to have a young, unwed mother counted among the staff." Tom regarded the empty glass with contempt. "What would she do then, if she was dismissed? She couldn't possibly support both herself and a child."

"She could always find work in a workhouse, couldn't she?" Matthew knew it was a horrible solution to the problem Tom posed, but it seemed like the only one at the moment.

Tom shook his head, his expression darkening. "She would sooner die," he said, his voice taking on a hollow, bone-chilling tone.

"But she would have work, and a place to stay, and-"

"Yes, but y'ave no idea what it's like, Matthew."

"I know they're horrible, but it's a solution, isn't it?"

"They're hell on Earth." Tom stared at the bottom of the glass for a while before continuing. "There's a fair amount of folks where I'm from who were forced'nto the workhouses during the Famine. Everyone's either been told by someone who made it out of those hellholes, or experienced it for themselves, what those places're like. It's hardly a solution."

* * *

"Is she asleep?"

Sybil nodded as she closed the door behind her, reluctant to leave Mairead's side. "I gave her another dose of the tranquilizer- larger than the first, to help her sleep. I hope that's okay," she informed the older woman. "Were you able to get those things from Dr. Clarkson?"

"Splendid," Isobel said, nodding her approval. "And a slightly larger dose is alright, I think. With the stronger tranquilizers, I would halve the usual dose on account of her size."

"I'll make a note of that for Mr. Barrow." She kept her hand on the doorknob, ready to enter if she heard Mairead cry out. "So I take it you were able to get stronger tranquilizers from Dr. Clarkson then?"

"By some miracle, I was. He wanted to know what they were for, I'm sure, but he gave them to me nonetheless."

"He won't ask questions, will he? I know Mairead wants as few people to know as possible."

"And justly so," Isobel said, glancing down the hall, though at what, Sybil couldn't discern. "When do you leave?"

"Two days."

With Mairead like she was, Sybil didn't want to leave, even though she knew Cousin Isobel would take care of the young woman like she was her own child. But she could only ask for so many days off from work at the hospital, and the same went for Tom at his newspaper.

"Hopefully she'll be making progress by then. How was she while I was gone?"

"Better, I think," Sybil said. "She slipped getting out of the bath, but she didn't hurt anything."

"That's good. Anything else?"

"Isobel, what if she's pregnant?"

The older woman fixed her gaze on Sybil, dark hazel eyes narrowed. "We'll deal with that when we come to it, and no earlier," she said. "Don't worry. I've dealt with plenty of cases like this before. She's in good hands."

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter! **

**Is Mairead pregnant?**

**You'll have to wait and see. **

**As usual, reviews are welcome.**


	44. Some Polish is Gained With One's Ruin

**A/N: So this chapter is hopefully less angsty than the past few. I know I've been rather unkind in how much angst I am heaping upon you guys, and thank you for your continued support. **

**Special thanks to for all she did to help me figure out this chapter. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Downton Abbey_. **

* * *

Mairead was airing out the small parlor of Crawley House when she heard a knocking at the door.

"I'll get it," she murmured, setting down the dust cloth and smoothing the front of the uniform dress she'd been lent before going to get the door.

Before Sybil left for Ireland, she'd allowed Mairead to help with small tasks like polishing silver and airing out the parlor in the morning and mid-afternoon, under the pretense that it would give Mairead a chance to stretch her legs and return to a normal life after what had happened a few days ago. Mairead was glad to have something to do; she couldn't bear the thought of sitting in the parlor or in the guest bedroom and doing nothing until Mrs. Crawley allowed her to return to Downton.

She stopped in front of the door and took a deep breath, allowing herself to study her reflection in the hall mirror.

The attack had been five days ago, and her face didn't look as tender as it had then, though it still hurt at times, and there were some places where livid bruises had surfaced, like islands stretching in an arc that looked strangely like the heel of someone's palm.

_Nathaniel's_ _palm_, she thought, running her fingertip over the purpling flesh, wincing when she accidentally applied too much pressure. She immediately dropped her hand to her side and tilted her head back so she could have a better view of the bruises that dotted her jaw- three on one side, and one on the other. Mrs. Crawley had given Mairead a cosmetic paste to cover her bruises, but even with it on, Mairead could see that they were just beginning the transition from purplish-black to sickly yellow-green.

The rest of her body- her shoulders, mostly- had borne the brunt of Nathaniel's aggression towards her, and she knew those bruises were still a deep red, on the cusp of darkening, and she knew it would be a while before they faded entirely. Aside from how much they hurt (though Mairead rarely voiced that kind of discomfort to anyone), Mairead didn't allow them to concern her. The pain was something she was used to, especially when her childhood had involved several incidents of her falling out of Aunt Bridget's hayloft or being nipped at by the geese who competed with her aunt's chickens for feed. It was being able to hide the bruises on her body, not out of vanity, but out of necessity, too, that made her less concerned by. That way, people wouldn't ask what she'd done to get them, and she wouldn't have to make up a lie to remember every time someone asked.

She tore herself away from the mirror and went to answer the door, steeling herself for whoever might be on the other side. As far as they were concerned, she was just a maid at Crawley House, with no purpose or other affairs in her life, save for the comfort of her employers. They did not know that she had been attacked by her former employer's son, nor would they care, and if they knew, they would likely spread the information all the way to Lord Grantham himself, and it would be out the door and onto the streets for her.

_Relax, _she told herself, taking another deep breath. _And don't dally. That won't help you. _

And then she opened the door, the appropriate greeting flying from her lips with a practiced evenness, as if nothing were wrong at all.

"Good afternoon," she said. "May I help you?"

As soon as she finished speaking, she realized that the person who stood before her was none other than Anna Bates.

"Good afternoon to you too," said the head housemaid, offering Mairead one of her warm smiles. "May I come in?"

"Mrs. Crawley isn't here, I'm afraid," Mairead informed her, maintaining her formal air despite the familiarity between the two women.

"No worries. I came to see you, actually, just to make sure you were getting on alright."

"Come in then, I suppose," Mairead said, stepping aside so Anna could enter and get away from the brisk air and promise of rain later that evening. "Would you like anything to eat?"

Anna shook her head demurely. "No thank you." Again, there was that smile, so warm and comforting, it made Mairead want to tell Anna what had happened, because Anna would understand- she always did, didn't she?- and Mairead knew she had nothing to fear from the older woman.

"Not even a cup of tea?"

The staff at Downton usually took their afternoon tea around three in the afternoon- the kitchen staff, minus Mrs. Patmore, usually took it two hours before, depending on the menu for the family that evening- which mean that Anna must've used the leisure afforded by that ritual to come pay a visit. The least Mairead could do was offer her a cup of tea if the older woman declined anything to eat (though she would make the offer again, once they were in the small kitchen, where Mairead knew there was cake left over from yesterday).

The corner of Anna's lip twitched upwards, widening her smile into one of amusement. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt," she said, following Mairead to the kitchen. "Are you sure Mrs. Bird won't mind?"

Mairead hesitated. "I don't think she's home, either," she answered, pulling out a chair for Anna before going to put the kettle on. "Mrs. Crawley is dining with the family tonight, which only leaves the servants to be fed, and that's just four of us. It's hardly worth an afternoon of preparation, wouldn't'cha say?"

"Four of you?"

She nodded. "Mr. Molesley, Mrs. Bird, Rachel, and m'self."

"But I thought Rachel had urgent matters that required her to be away for some time, and that was why Mrs. Crawley asked to borrow you until she returned." Mairead could feel Anna's eyes follow her as she retrieved the ceramic service that was used by the staff of Crawley House, and even when the task was done, she looked around for other tasks to do- anything to keep from seeming like she'd been caught red-handed with something. "That's what I was told, that's all."

Finding nothing to do to create the pretense of industry, Mairead turned to face Anna, hoping that she wouldn't end up caught in more lies than she had to be. _She's your friend, _she reminded herself, managing to control her breathing even though her heart was racing and everything else demanded that she escape. _She's worried about you, even though she's too polite to say so or demand to know what happened. Just tell her _something _besides a lie. _

"I-"

"What in Christ's name are you doing in my kitchen?"

Mrs. Bird, a stocky woman who stood at least half a head taller than Mairead, entered the kitchen by way of the back door, her beady eyes immediately fixating on the housemaid, as if she'd sensed her presence from outdoors. She set her hat and coat on the pegs by the door before stalking over to where Mairead was standing, seemingly oblivious to Anna's presence.

"Well?" the woman asked, her hands on her hips. "Are you going to tell me, or are you going to do the polite thing and get out?"

"Mrs. Bird, I don't think-"

Mairead met the cook's eyes after shooting a warning look at Anna, and did her best to give the impression of apology, or at least deference, even though she didn't feel any of those things towards the old woman. "I was making Mrs. Bates a cup of tea," she said, taking a step forward, so she wasn't pressed up against the cupboards.

Mrs. Bird smirked. "Were you then?"

"She was."

"Yes ma'am," Mairead said, unflinching, eyes still on Mrs. Bird. "Would you like a cup, ma'am?"

"What, so you can poison me, you little Mick?" The insult stung, as if Mrs. Bird had struck her, but it wasn't a shock to Mairead. "I'd think not."

When Mairead arrived at Crawley House and both Sybil and Mrs. Crawley were well out of earshot, Mrs. Bird had made it very clear that Mairead was not welcome, and that if she so much as thought about stepping out of line (which by the cook's definition was a set of rules that had to be followed to the letter, and could easily be summed up as "keep a wide berth and treat me as you would a lady of higher rank"), all sorts of unpleasant things would happen. This behavior was only directed towards Mairead, it seemed; Mr. Molesley, the butler whose hair seemed to grow thinner with each day, could do as he wished in Mrs. Bird's presence, and so could Rachel, Mrs. Crawley's maid of all work, though it seemed that the cook was less fond of the girl than the butler.

The cook's disdain for Mairead was more than apparent, especially after Sybil left and Mrs. Crawley decided that Mairead was well enough to be left on her own and take her meals with the servants. It was at these mealtimes that Mrs. Bird took advantage of her status as a senior staff member, and saw to it that Mairead was allowed to serve herself only when everyone else already had food, and there had been some instances when there wasn't enough food for the additional person. In these instances Mrs. Bird blamed on it slipping her mind that there was an additional mouth to feed, and it had been stated twice that Mairead was welcome to lick the pot if she was still hungry (the first time, Mairead bore this in silence, though her flushed cheeks betrayed the injury of the comment, and the second time she stated that she wasn't feeling well and excused herself from the table, acutely aware of the cook watching her leave with smug satisfaction). Mairead had taken to eating separately from the others when she could, though even that proved difficult at times, because she knew it wouldn't go unnoticed, even if her presence at the table was rarely acknowledged.

Mrs. Bird's dominance over the other staff members was impressive- they followed her lead like ducks followed their mother, though Mairead could see that they had qualms about it, even if they never spoke up. To them, Mairead was an outsider, a servant from another house who was occupying a guest room instead of sharing Rachel's room, like a visiting servant might, and no doubt there was an air of mystery surrounding the circumstances of her stay, and that could easily lead to the assumption of scandal, which there was. Mrs. Bird saw this as a threat, no doubt, and took it upon herself to defend what she must've seen as her household, even though Mrs. Crawley didn't say anything on the matter. She was doing what she thought was best, and Rachel (who was a little bit on the absent-minded, vapid side of things, Mairead concluded) said nothing to protest what was obviously unfair treatment of the other maid.

"No ma'am," came Mairead's answer. "I was just offerin' you tea…"

"And you suddenly have the authority in this house to do that, is that it? You think that just because Mrs. Crawley has you staying in the guest bedroom, you have the right to come and do as you please, am I right?"

"No ma'am."

Mrs. Bird arched a greying brow. "Don't lie and demure like that," she said, forcing Mairead back against the cupboard. "I know what you Fenians are like. Greedy, deceitful little bastards, the lot of you. It's a good thing Churchill thought to send reinforcements and make sure your kind stays where they belong, though after that excuse of a rising in 'sixteen, I'd say they should've exterminated the whole population of that miserable island, burned it to the ground, maybe."

There was the sound of a chair moving across the floor, followed by light, quick footsteps- Anna. "Mrs. Bird, leave Mairead alone," the petite woman demanded, her bright eyes glinting dangerously. "She didn't do anything wrong."

Mairead didn't say anything- she couldn't.

Her heart had begun to work its way up her throat (at least that's what it felt like), and her stomach had begun to churn anxiously. She knew she had to keep herself calm until Mrs. Bird's temper died down, because if she reacted, it would be giving Mrs. Bird what she wanted, and Mairead would not let that happen.

"Not by your terms, perhaps, but on mine, she did. She's a guest in my house, so she has to follow my rules."

"Then she can come home, to Downton, and that can be the end of it. You won't have to worry."

"Oh, but I will," the cook said, her attention on Anna now, though she was still blocking any attempts Mairead could've made to escape. "Mrs. Crawley'll want to know where she got to, and I'm not going to be known for the rest of my days as someone who let a cat-lick get the better of her."

"I'll let her know," Anna told the cook. "And I'll let her know how you've treated Mairead just now too."

"Mrs. Bates, please don't," Mairead muttered, shaking her head. "There's no need."

"There's every need," the head housemaid insisted. "Mrs. Hughes ought to know too, before she lets any of the others come here when Mrs. Crawley needs another hand."

"You'll do no such thing!" Mrs. Bird announced, her cheeks flaring red, and Mairead couldn't help but wonder if she was going to strike Anna.

_She better not, _Mairead thought, seeing this as her opportunity to inch away from the cook. _Or else then we'll really have a brawl going. _

"Where do you think you're going?" She heard Mrs. Bird demand, and she caught sight of the cook's reddened hand dart towards her, catching her just below the collar of her dress. "Thought you could sneak away, did you? You're not that clever, no you aren't."

"It doesn't take much t'outwit you," Mairead muttered, lifting her chin and letting herself be more flippant than was probably wise.

"Excuse me?" Mrs. Bird gave Mairead a shake, which startled the young woman, who never thought it possible that someone older than her by that much could be stronger. "I don't think I heard that. Would you mind repeating yourself?"

"I said," Mairead began, feeling the room sway, "that it doesn't take much t'outwit you...ma'am."

"Why you rude, little…" The rest of the insult was lost as Mrs. Bird jerked Mairead to the side, causing her to fall to the floor. "I'll not have you at my table any longer, is that clear? If you want something to eat, I'm sure there's plenty of places to find it, and I bet that famine of yours made you especially good at getting food all sorts of ways, didn't it?"

Mairead didn't answer, in part because she was too afraid to speak up, for fear that the cook would make another attempt at hurting her, and also because saying that the Famine was before she was born (before her mother was born, even) wouldn't make any difference to the woman, who clearly had no interest or regard for anything to do with Ireland. She didn't dare cry, no matter how much it hurt, no matter what that communicated about Mrs. Bird's power over Mairead.

"Now get lost," Mrs. Bird said, nudging Mairead with her boot. "You have work to do, so do it, why don't you?"

Mairead didn't answer.

"What? Gone mute all of a sudden? Or are you plotting my demise, so you can land yourself in prison along with that valet of Lord Grantham's? Wouldn't surprise me, the company you keep. Is that firebrand of a chauffeur that I heard about from Mr. Molesley a friend of yours too?"

Mairead heard Anna let out a sound that sounded like an angry cat's hiss, and something that could only be described as "murder" flashed through the head housemaid's eyes like lightning, before it disappeared just as quickly. "Mrs. Bird, kindly leave her alone, or I will tell Mrs. Crawley."

"Then I will tell Mr. Carson that he keeps a Fenian whore under his roof," the cook snarled, straightening out her back so she loomed over Anna even more than she already did. "It's only fair to warn him."

"Of course, though perhaps you'd best leave that to me, Mrs. Bird." Anna didn't seem at all intimidated by Mrs. Bird's height, or her hawkish glare. "If I'm still welcome, I'd like to stay a while. I have news for Mairead that she ought to hear."

The cook's lips pinched together, and she crossed her arms in front of her chest, which Mairead could see compressing in a very noticeable huff. "I have errands to run as it is." She narrowed her eyes at Mairead, who was just beginning to ease herself into a sitting position. "If there is so much as a speck of flour out of place when I get back, I'll know who did it, and it will not go unpunished this time, do you understand?"

Mairead nodded. "Yes...yes ma'am," she said, lowering her gaze, her body tightening in anticipation of Mrs. Bird moving to strike her again.

Instead, the old woman spat at Mairead's feet and turned to leave, gathering her hat and coat once more before exiting the kitchen.

"Mairead, are you alright?" Anna asked as she rushed to help the housemaid to her feet. She placed her hands right on top of a bruise, and Mairead tried her hardest not to betray her pain to the older woman.

"I'm fine, Mrs. Bates," Mairead said, squeezing her eyes shut as the kettle's shriek pierced the heavy silence of the kitchen.

"Are you sure? Mrs. Bird was rather- My goodness! Have you been eating at all the past few days?" Anna's fingers ran up and down the side of Mairead's torso, feeling in between each rib.

"Mrs. Bates, please don't touch me," Mairead begged, making an attempt to remove herself from under the head housemaid's touch, an attempt that ended up being a successful one.

"Why not?" Blue eyes widened. "Did someone hurt you? Is that why you've been staying with Mrs. Crawley?"

Her heart quickened, and she knew she had a choice.

She could either lie, and say she'd fallen or something silly like that, or she could tell the truth and hope Anna wouldn't pass judgement too harshly.

The truth, or a lie?

That was always the question, wasn't it? It'd been the question when she'd interviewed for her post, when she'd arrived with Tom and spoken familiarly of him, when Mr. Barrow had asked her what happened in Manchester, when Tom had asked the same, and now, when Anna asked what had happened to her that she was like this now, so easily cowed and fragile as a babe.

The truth, or a lie?

"There was someone staying at the house...from my former post, who I didn't want t'see, because he'd….because he'd hurt me before, and I was scared," Mairead said, giving Anna half of the truth instead of a full lie or the full truth. The rest could wait for later, if she ever thought herself brave enough to recall it. "Mrs. Crawley was kind enough to offer me a place to stay until I was sure he was gone."

"Is he the one that did this to you?"

_Yes. _

Mairead shook her head, and wished that Anna would drop the subject. "You said you had news for me?"

It was clear that Anna wanted to pursue this topic further, though she obliged Mairead's subtle request to change the topic. "Yes, I do," she said. "And I'd like to ask a favor."

"Of course."

"First, I think some good news is in order," Anna said, taking Mairead by the hands and helping her over to the table, where she gestured for the young woman to sit before doing so herself.

"Alright."

"Well, I'm being promoted to lady's maid- I was promoted, actually, the day of the wedding- to Lady Mary."

"Congratulations, though who's head housemaid then?"

"You are."

Mairead didn't believe her ears. "Come again? I must've heard you wrong."

Anna shook her head, and a bright smile played across her lips. "No, you didn't, I assure you," she said. "Mrs. Hughes asked me who I thought was best suited for the position, and I put you forward. I didn't doubt for a second that she'd agree, and I could tell she approved as well. Congratulations."

Head housemaid.

That was one rung down on the ladder from housekeeper.

Her dream was in sight, Mairead realized, her heart fluttering with excitement. Maybe everything would be okay.

Yes, it would be okay. She could bury this and give a stellar performance as the head housemaid of Downton Abbey, and as long as no one ever found out what had happened to her, the role of housekeeper would be hers when Mrs. Hughes inevitably retired. It couldn't be for more than ten years, because age would catch up with the current housekeeper sooner rather than later and she would be forced to retire. That was plenty of time for this to be forgotten, wasn't it?

"Why wasn't I told?"

"We were going to wait to tell you until the twenty-fifth, as a sort of birthday present," Anna explained.

Heat rushed to Mairead's cheeks. "Who told you when my birthday was?"

"Tom told me, and swore me to strictest secrecy."

"That sounds like him," Mairead said, smiling. "And the favor you need from me, what's that?"

Anna's brightness dimmed. "I leave tomorrow with Lady Mary for her honeymoon," she began. "I shouldn't be gone long, a fortnight at the most, but I was wondering if you could visit Mr. Bates for me, just so he doesn't get lonely. I can pay you back for the train fare if you want me to."

"You don't need to do that," Mairead assured her, pressing her lips in a tight line. "And I'll visit him, I promise. Perhaps I can even do some looking around while I'm at it, as long as I'm not too busy as head housemaid."

"You'll have ample time, I promise you. When I get back, I can help you learn how to dress the women that you'll no doubt be maiding in the future," Anna told her.

"But what about while you're gone? I'll have to see to Lady Edith, won't I?"

Anna shook her head. "No, you won't," she said. "I've been training up Madge, at Lady Edith's request, because she'll be moving in with Lady Edith and Sir Strallen when they're married, leaving any female guests and Lady Sybil to you. I'm sure Lady Edith wouldn't mind having you learn with her….Madge should be able to teach you the basics."

Mairead nodded. "Thank you," she said. Dear God, was she really ready for this? "I won't let you down, Mrs. Bates."

"No, I don't think you will. I have faith in you, though I doubt you need it. You'll do splendidly, I promise you...and who knows? Maybe you'll be the housekeeper some day. You never know."

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter! **

**Things are finally looking up for Mairead, aren't they? Who knows, maybe she'll replace Mrs. Hughes when she and Mr. Carson get married and move into their own cozy cottage so Mr. Carson can pursue his love of wine and start a vineyard (which would be awesome). We'll have to wait and see! **

**As usual, reviews are more than welcome, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter of _A Patch of Clover_! **


	45. The Visitor

**A/N: There isn't much to say here except for the title of the previous chapter is taken from Thomas Hardy's poem "The Ruined Maid," which has always been something I wanted to use in the context of Mairead since I read it in English class last term, and look, I got my chance! **

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Downton Abbey_, nor am I an expert on Irish history. I am simply doing my best (feel free to let me know what I've gotten wrong as far as that goes, please.) **

* * *

"Can I help you?" the heavyset guard asked as Mairead approached the desk where he sat, leafing through forms of some kind.

"I'm here to see John Bates," she said, her attention resting on a copy of a newspaper with an advertisement that promised ten shillings a day to go to Ireland and act as reinforcements to the RIC.

The guard followed her gaze. "It's something, innit?" he asked. "It was Churchill's idea, t'remind Ireland that we still're runnin' things over there, and put upstarts like that de Valera fella back in their place. Gives our boys jobs too, good paying jobs where they can serve their country."

"It is something, I suppose," Mairead said, regretting having looked at the advertisement, because now she'd be stuck here discussing a topic that she'd rather stay away from at the moment.

"M'oldest boy shipped out to…Cork, he said he was going to, I think."

She nodded. She knew Cork- that was where Christopher Moran was from. "You must be proud," she said, curling her fingers into loose fists at her side. How someone could be proud that their son was being sent to continue the oppression of a people who only sought to be free from an oppressive system?

"That I am, miss." The guard cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. "Now, you said you were here to see someone?"

"John Bates."

He gave her a terse nod. "Wait here," he said, rising from his chair and leaving the room. It wasn't long before he returned with a tall, rather lanky guard trailing behind him. "Miss, Durrant here'll show you to the visiting area."

"Thank you sir." Mairead followed Durrant out the door and into a network of dank, dark grey stone walls, keeping behind the guard and taking care that she didn't step in anything and soil her shoes. She kept a safe distance behind him, so she wouldn't step on his heels, though she was careful not to lag too far behind.

"You still there, miss?" Durrant asked, giving Mairead a quick glance over his shoulder, though he didn't wait for an answer, nor did he slow his pace, not until they reached the entrance to what must've been the visiting area, where he stopped and faced her.

_Deep breaths, _Mairead told herself, trying to look past how much taller Durrant was than she, how he loomed over her like a moustached scarecrow. She was not in danger here, she had to remember that.

Durrant led her through the door and down a narrow aisle between cells that were furnished with only a narrow table and two chairs, some of which were occupied by men in threadbare prison greys and their visitors- women who were either wives, sisters, or daughters and men who could only be solicitors constituted the majority- with a singular (though Mairead noticed that some cells had two) guard standing eerily still off in the shadows. The low voices of prisoners and their visitors blended together, obscuring the words being exchanged and giving the effect of a stream running over smooth rocks, blended and almost soothing. The smooth current of sound would occasionally be interrupted by a guard barking orders at the prisoners and visitors alike, mostly a harsh "no touching!" that would sometimes have to be repeated if the offending parties refused to comply.

"Wait here, miss," Durrant said, unlocking the door to an empty cell and ushering her in, a smirk playing across his lips when Mairead hesitated. "Don't worry. I won't leave y'in here, if that's what's got you worried. I've just got to tell old Bates he's got a visitor."

"Of course." She quickened her pace when she noticed him looking up and down the length of her body, as if he was appraising a horse at the local fair. "Sorry."

He muttered something unintelligible and waited until she was sitting in the chair closest to the door- an unwise decision, she realized, though she couldn't do anything about it now, not unless she wanted to seem incredibly suspicious- to close it behind him (_Did he lock it?_ she found herself wondering) and disappear down the hall, leaving her alone.

Mairead let her attention wander around the room, searching the occupants of each cell as if she expected to see someone she knew. She thought for a moment that she saw Lucy Bower sitting opposite a dusky-haired young man- easily the youngest prisoner in the room- who seemed to have a birthmark of sorts peeking above the collar of his prison uniform, but it was unlikely.

* * *

"There's someone here t'see you," Durrant told John, pushing the door to the cell open and reaching for the handcuffs that hung at his belt. "Up y'go, you big lout."

John didn't wait for the guard to cross the threshold, but instead rose and went to meet him, grimacing as his knee twinged. He didn't respond to Durrant's taunt, but stayed silent as he was led out of his cell and to the visiting area.

The young woman who was waiting for him wasn't anyone John recognized immediately, though as he was led to his seat opposite her, he was able to give a name to the dark reddish hair and the tight-lipped expression that was neither a grin nor a grimace. She was dressed exactly as she had for his his trial, in a smart navy skirt and grey jacket, though she was wearing one of Anna's hats, the dark felt one that she'd worn for their makeshift wedding.

"Good morning Mr. Bates," she said, her voice reminding him of his mother's mother, the quiet lilt it had to it.

"Good morning, Miss Mairead," he said, noticing a cluster of livid spots on the side of her face, which seemed to be swollen, if only slightly. "What're you doing here?"

"Mrs. Anna asked me to visit you while she's in France with Lady Mary," she replied. "I suppose it isn't much use askin' how you've been doin', is it?"

"I've been better," John admitted, offering her a kind smile when he noticed her apprehension. There was something else on her mind, he could tell, though he didn't dare to ask.

Anna had told him about Mairead on many occasions, and John had learned a lot about the young Irishwoman from his wife, more than he could ever learn from observing her. His wife described her as strong-willed, hardworking, and occasionally spirited, and John had seen that when his path crossed with hers in the late hours of the night. Very rarely did he see her without a needle and thread between her fingers, or a brush stained black with polish in one hand and one of Lady Edith's shoes in the other, and she almost never spoke, not like the other housemaids did.

They were alike in that regard, though Mairead, by benefit of her age, didn't have any of the demons that haunted him, and she would never have to face what he was facing now. She was young- she just turned twenty, Anna had told him in her last letter to him, her words filled with such pride that John almost thought it was their daughter she was writing about, not a housemaid who seemed to intentionally estrange herself from the rest of the staff.

He knew Mairead and Mr. Branson had been friends, and that she'd been rather upset when the chauffeur left with Lady Sybil, a display that John later understood when Anna told him that Mairead and the chauffeur were cousins. It wasn't the deepest of secrets, though with Mr. Carson's attitude towards the chauffeur, John understood as well why Mairead had kept her relationship to him a secret.

"How have things been at Downton?" he asked, speaking gently, as not to frighten her. He didn't blame her; even he found the dark shades of the walls, the guards, brutes that they were, and the maze of dank halls daunting. "Did the wedding go well?"

Anna had told him that the wedding had gone as smooth as it possibly could have, and she'd filled in the other details besides, but John realized that he would have to lead this conversation somehow, and that seemed the best way to do it. Mairead had come to see him, a person she hardly knew, much less cared about, when she easily could've used her half-day for shopping or something of the like, so the least he could do was try to put her at ease.

She seemed to freeze for a moment, her hands, which were already folded in her lap, curled into tight fists, and a quick, sharp intake of breath betrayed her pain as her fingernails must've dug into her palm. She looked as if she was recalling something horrible that happened to her, but the shadow passed soon enough.

"The wedding went well, I suppose. I'm sure Mrs. Bates told you 'bout what happened at dinner the night before, with Tom and Mr. Grey- the eldest of Lord Merton's sons."

"She did, yes."

"Mrs. Bates was appointed lady's maid to Lady Mary."

"Yes, I heard," John said, unable to feel anything but pride when his wife's promotion was mentioned. It was strange, hearing Anna referred to as "Mrs. Bates," especially when she always insisted that she be called "Anna," even though she was married."And you, I heard, were promoted to head housemaid."

"Yes sir."

"Anna wrote before she left saying you were very excited."

Color rose in Mairead's cheeks, and a small, embarrassed smile flitted across her face. "I suppose I was sir, an' still am," she said. "I hope I can make her proud, sir."

"I'm sure you will," he told her, glad to see her beginning to relax in his presence. He knew his size and build made it difficult for a lot of people to be comfortable in his presence, never mind that he was sitting here because he was suspected of murder.

"Thank you." She took her hands from her lap and clasped them in front of her on the table, her weight resting tentatively on her wrists. "I don't think I can replace her, and if the time comes, I don't know if I could ever replace Mrs. Hughes."

"Of course you can't ever replace either of them," he told her, nodding in agreement. "Though I do think you'll be great in your own way."

Both Mrs. Hughes and Anna would be tough acts to follow; never in his life had John met anyone who balanced maternal instinct with professional common sense as perfectly as Mrs. Hughes did, nor did he know anyone as kind as Anna. Mairead would be known for something when she became housekeeper, something that was bound to happen soon, as Mrs. Hughes wasn't exactly young anymore, and neither was Mr. Carson (though it was less clear as to who would succeed him when the time came).

The shadow returned to Mairead's features, and she placed her hands in her lap again. "Mr. Bates, may I ask you something?"

"I can't guarantee that I'll be able to answer, but you're welcome to ask nonetheless." He studied her as closely as the poor lighting and distance between them allowed, trying to discern her question before she asked it. "Is something bothering you?"

She bit her lip, and he saw her jaw clench tight. "Yes," she admitted, glancing away from him for a moment, her eyes closing shut before opening again. A tenuous calm seemed to have settled over her, though John could still see the tightness in her jaw. "It's hard for me to name...just what it is, but yes, somethin' is."

He nodded.

He could see that she was hurting, that something had happened, something he thought he could name, but didn't dare, because it wasn't possible. There was no way on earth that such a thing could happen at Downton, or even nearby. The Crawleys were good people, and the people in the village were good people too. They'd never dare… Would they?

"Time's up," declared Durrant, stepping from his place in the shadows and standing expectantly beside Mairead, waiting for her to rise. "This way, miss."

"Goodbye Mr. Bates," she said, a slight grimace crossing her features as she offered him a small, kind smile. "I'll be back next week, I imagine. Hopefully I'll be a better conversationalist then."

This caused him to laugh. "Goodbye Miss Mairead."

"Time's up, no more talkin'- don't you know that?" Durrant asked. reaching out to take Mairead by the arm, as if she was the prisoner, and not Mr. Bates, but the girl withdrew her arm with lightning speed, her dark eyes flashing a warning at the guard before she allowed herself to be escorted out, while John remained behind.

* * *

**A/N: I've been meaning to get Mairead and Mr. Bates to interact for a while now, and look, I found my chance! **

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and the chapters to come are going to be enjoyable as well. **

**Thank you, and don't hesitate to leave a review~ **


	46. Aftershocks

**A/N: So here's chapter 46~ **

**I am going to put a trigger warning for mentions of rape on this chapter, so, before I forget: **

*****TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of rape*** **

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Downton Abbey_, nor am I an expert on Irish history (not yet, anyways).**

* * *

_Mairead- _

_Forgive me for not writing sooner, but, in case you hadn't heard, things have heated up in Ireland as of late, and I've been tasked with covering it for the paper. _

_I'm sure you've seen the advertisements, and no doubt heard more than enough (I envy you if you've heard nothing, you have no idea) about Churchill's new initiative to quell the raids that are being carried out on RIC barracks. It's horrible business, I'm afraid, because not only are those those conducting the raids some our friends, but the Black and Tans (that's what they're calling them here, on account of their uniforms) don't act according to any clear set of rules. They've attacked innocent people, either because of suspicion or because they can, but the insurgents are still fighting, for better or for worse. _

_On any other day, I would praise the fighting spirit of this country, but I cannot bring myself to condone the actions of the IRB and Michael Collins, not when they see the only path to freedom as one piled high with the bodies of the English, as well as their own countrymen. It is as Yeats described, that "the best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity*," and I am now ready to believe that Ireland is at war, not with England, as some would like to think, but with herself. _

_Families have been torn apart over the subject of freedom and of Home Rule, and while our family remains whole, you and I both know the time will come when we have to chose, and I fear that day more than any man should. Promise me that whatever happens, you will not turn against me, or think less of me, because I would not think less of you. _

_In the meantime, know that Sybil and I are safe, as are Isibéal and her children. My parents write almost weekly to assure us that they are doing well, as well as to keep us in Dublin posted on the goings-on of Wicklow. There isn't as much turmoil in the mountains as there is in County Cork, but there is conflict nonetheless. _

_I hope you are doing well, safe in England (where, for once, I am glad you are, away from the chaos they're calling a war of independence) and hopefully recovering. Mrs. Crawley wrote to us when you returned to Downton, saying that you were doing well enough to be up and helping her maid with chores when Sybil and I left. I cannot say how proud I am, of your strength and of your resilience, and I cannot say how sorry I am that I was unable to prevent such a horrible thing from happening to you. I let you down, I know I did, and I hope you'll forgive me someday. _

_It wasn't your fault, Mairead. I don't care about what you did in the past, because, from what you told me and Matthew, you did the right thing and refused him, but he pursued you. You did the right thing, and if your mother says otherwise, you are free to come and live with me and Sybil. We would willingly take you and care for you and help you find work, no matter what- remember that. You will always have a home with us, no matter what you did or had done to you. _

_Take care, and may God watch over you. _

_\- Tom _

Mairead folded Tom's letter carefully before placing it back in the envelope that bore her name and Downton's address in her cousin's slanted hand. She then slipped the envelope between the pages of her book of Yeats's earlier poetry, and withdrew a second envelope.

There were five envelopes in total, three with return addresses in Ireland (from Sybil, Isibéal, and Tom), and one from Manchester (Mairead recognized her mother's immaculate handwriting almost immediately). The fifth had no return address, and the handwriting was unfamiliar to Mairead. When she'd been given the letters that'd arrived for her in her absence, Mairead had also been given a curious look by Mrs. Hughes, but the Scotswoman said nothing on the matter and let Mairead go about her business.

The strange envelope had stayed between the pages of Yeats for a week and a half, completely untouched for fear of its strangeness. The question of who'd sent it continued to fill Mairead's mind, like some kind of Pandora's box, its unknown nature both frightening and fascinating her, until she couldn't stand to question its contents without being able to see for herself what lay within.

_Dearest Mairead, _

_I know I behaved in a manner that was very ungentlemanly of me at our last meeting, and for that I am most sorry. No doubt you think I am a horrible, wretched creature for doing such a thing, even though it was in the name of my love for you, which has not only endured years apart, but it was the thought of you that carried me through the sleepless hell that was the Western Front. I thought that after the war, perhaps you would accept a proposal from a man in the uniform of the British Army, something I imagine would put your dashing Volunteer Force to shame. _

_I know you loved me too, and I also know that you were lying, that day when you told me otherwise. You were lying, no doubt, to protect yourself and your reputation, but know that your class and your religion are of no concern to me. I love you for your fighting spirit, the way Petruchio loved Kate's, and Benedick Beatrice's, and as they did, so will I, and do anything in my power to make you my wife. _

_Say you will, and we'll away- you have my word. _

_I promise to love and cherish you, and you and our child will never have to want for anything. We can go see plays every week-end, and travel to the continent to visit Paris, Rome, and perhaps even Russia. I know you'd like that, and I know you love me and our child enough that you wouldn't dream of declining my offer. _

_It would be the right thing to do, especially since you're likely to be with child- our child, my dearest, can you believe it?- and it would only be proper. God will be forgiving, I'm sure, for doesn't He cherish those declared to be "fallen" as He cherishes those who have done no wrong? Surely He would forgive you of any wrong, as devout and scrupulous as you are- practically a saint- wouldn't he?_

_I await your reply with an eager and hopeful heart at my father's house in Manchester, where we met. _

_Yours truly, _

_Nathaniel _

She couldn't believe it.

Did Nathaniel really think that he could do what he did, take no responsibility for his actions, and get away with it like this?

What made him think that she would want him as her husband, or as the father of her child, when that very life had been created by him shattering hers into tiny fragments that she was still searching for, hoping she could piece herself together before anyone noticed that she was no longer whole?

What made him think that his actions were excusable?

He hadn't been at all intoxicated when he'd assaulted her; she'd tasted something like fire on his lips, sweet fire that dampened the sound of her fear, but it had only been a trace, a spark, not a full blaze. He'd known full well what he was doing. Every movement that he'd made in that moment had been calculated, every blow and thrust; he had _meant _to do it, meant to force her hand with the force of a groom breaking in a high-strung colt, sometimes cajoling, and other times threatening. He knew if she was pregnant that she would marry her for her reputation's sake- or at least, that was the decent thing to do- and then she would be trapped with a man she no longer loved (or couldn't love anymore, she wasn't sure exactly).

"Never thought you one to be hiding out here," Mr. Barrow commented, taking a seat a few feet down from where Mairead sat in the corner of the courtyard. He took a drag of his cigarette. "Everything alright?"

"Ev'rythin's fine," Mairead answered flatly, watching as the valet breathed out a large plume of smoke.

Her eyes darted to the letter, a small hope bubbling up in her chest that maybe Nathaniel was sorry, that he wasn't just doing the kind and decent thing and apologizing and offering to marry her. Maybe he did love her after all.

Did she love him back?

She couldn't say.

It was difficult to see herself as someone who would settle down with a man in the first place, never mind a man who had done what Nathaniel had done to her.

Could she love a man like the one Nathaniel had shown himself to be?

"Then what's got you coming out here to read your mail?"

"What's it t'you?" she snapped back. "It's my business, isn't it?"

"It's my business if y'look like you're about to either faint or go into hysterics. Neither of which, I don't think, would help in the running of this house, don't you think?"

"What do you want?" she asked, unwilling to put up a fight. If Mr. Barrow wanted something of her, fine, he could have it. She wouldn't put up a fight for it because he knew what had happened, and she doubted he would have any qualms about using it against her.

"Nothing, at least not now," the valet told her, giving his head a toss before he took another drag of his cigarette. "Who's that from?"

"Mind your own business."

"I will when it doesn't have the head housemaid in a state, as it clearly does." He scooted closer to her, leaning the rest of the way and trying to read the letter. "This is from the fellow who...who attacked you, isn't it?"

Mairead shifted in her seat, wondering if it was too late to angle her body away from Mr. Barrow, so he couldn't finish reading the letter. "No," she said. A lie, but Thomas didn't need to know that. "It's not."

"Then who's it from?" the valet asked, a cloud of smoke drifting into Mairead's face, which caused her to start coughing, and gave him the perfect opportunity to snatch the letter from her hands.

"Give it" -_cough_\- "back!" she exclaimed, reaching for it with one hand, the other, she used to wave the smoke away from her face.

He held it just out of her reach, in the same hand as his cigarette, though he clearly took great care not to let the smoldering end touch the fine paper. "What a load of rubbish," he remarked, handing her back the letter once he'd read it. "You're not going t'marry him, are you?"

"What's it t'you?"

"I'm not going to play your game, Mairead," he said, flicking his cigarette to the ground and crushing it under the heel of his shoe. "I want t'help you. You forget I trained as a medic during the war, and I found you, remember? I think if I was going to tell anyone, I'd've done it by now, don't you think?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think you do."

She shook her head. "No, I don't," she said, wrapping her arms around her middle as she felt her heart begin to race, as if that would somehow force it to slow down. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Mairead, what happened to you was horrible, and I can understand if you want to forget it, but it won't change what happened," he told her, his voice calm and devoid of the smugness Mairead was used to hearing from him.

"I love him."

She wasn't sure where the words had come from, though maybe that wasn't the right question. What had possessed her to say such a thing? Surely Mr. Barrow thought her deserving of what she got now, after her admission of love (did she really love him?) for Nathaniel.

"Don't say that," Mr. Barrow said, shaking his head. "I know he said in his letter that he loved you, but Mairead, no one does what he does out of love, believe me."

"What do you know about love?" she asked him, folding the letter and holding it to her chest, away from him.

The valet hesitated a moment before answering: "More than you do, that's for certain. Now, take my advice and burn that letter as soon as you can, and make sure it's all burnt."

"Why would I want t'do that?" she asked, horrified. She'd put the letter in the box with all the other correspondences she'd received since going into service.

"You don't need that"- he gestured towards the letter- "in your life."

"Don't tell me what I do an' don't need."

"I'm trying to help you." He held out a hand. "Give me the letter, then, and I'll do it."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "What makes you think….what makes you think...I'll give it t'ya?"

"Because you're a sensible girl, and you know what's good for you, even in this state." He scooted closer to her, his hand still held up, and his eyes trained steadily on her. "Come on."

She shook her head again, and chose this as the moment to angle her body away from him. "I'm not goin' t'get rid of it. What if I want t'keep it?"

"You'll only make things worse for yourself that way."

"And that's none of your business."

"Dear Lord," he sighed, rubbing his temple with his other hand, the one with the glove covering the palm. "I'm not going to do anything against you, can't you see? I want to help."

"And how can y'do that?" she snapped, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. "You can't do anythin' if I'm...if I'm...what if I'm...I'm….pregnant?"

She felt Mr. Barrow's hands on her shoulders, angling her body back towards him in one smooth motion. Her heart was racing, to the point that it was physically painful, and her stomach rolled over and over, until she felt it might wring out its contents.

"Mairead, you're panicking; you need to take deep breaths and calm yourself down," Mr. Barrow said, taking a hand from her shoulder and placing it on the back of her neck. "Everything's okay. No one wants to hurt you, and no one here is going to let you get hurt again."

"What if I'm pregnant?" she asked, flinching as he touched her neck, but she let him keep his hand there nonetheless. "I'll lose m'job, and...and...then...I'll have t'go to a workhouse."

"Deep breaths," he instructed, moving his hand back to her shoulder, where she was more comfortable with being touched. "Don't worry about that now. Just calm down first. You're not pregnant, and no one's going to be dismissing you."

"You don't know that!" she cried, trying to force her body back into a more neutral state. She could feel Mr. Barrow's hands rise and fall as she struggled to take deep breaths like he'd told her to, the solid presence reassuring in its strange way. "I don't know the first thing 'bout raisin' a child, but I do know y'can't raise a child if y'don't have a job."

"You are not pregnant, Mairead," Mr. Barrow said firmly.

She looked at him, her dark eyes round like a child's and shining with tears, and in the space of a few seconds, her posture collapsed, her shoulders curving inwards and her head dipping towards her chest as she began to cry. The letter from Nathaniel fell from her hands, onto the damp cobblestone of the courtyard, where it would remain for quite some time, forgotten. She felt Mr. Barrow press a handkerchief into her hands, folding her fingers over the plain fabric square as if it was a secret.

"Thank...thank you," she stuttered, wiping her eyes. "I'm sorry...I'm scared."

"And it's okay to be scared," he told her, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "You've lived through something horrible and you were strong enough to get out alive, which means you're strong enough to keep living."

"The war was different, though."

"I'm not talking about the war, but if you want to bring it up, I will." He pulled back, and Mairead watched as he took a deep breath, steadying himself, perhaps, before he continued. "The war and what happened to you aren't alike, the exact action of it, I mean. But they are alike in that you don't come back the same person you went there as. You're changed, and you see the world differently, and yes, there are nights when everything is hell and you just want to put an end to it, but you forget the most important thing."

"What's that?"

"The most important thing, is that you are not alone. You forget that there were thousands- millions- of others who are maybe lying awake in bed as you are, trying to fight off the memories." Even at a whisper, the intensity in his voice was impossible to miss, and so was the bitterness too. "No one likes to talk about it, because everyone is afraid, of the very same things you are. You remember Mr. Lang, don't you? He pushed through, and while he wasn't able to retain his post, he did his best. That's what we all have to do. We have to do our best to survive because not every day is going to be like the one before."

Mairead bit her lip. "I'm not sure I can."

"Yes, Mairead, you can," he said. "I've seen you- stubborn as Lady Mary or Mr. Carson and with as much fight in you as Lady Sybil. Hell, you put her to shame with your spirit, if I dare say so. You can do this, I know you can, because you want to. Don't you want to get through the worst of it?"

She nodded. "Yes. Yes I do."

A small grin found its way to Mr. Barrow's lips- a genuine grin, not the alligator grin he sometimes displayed before pulling off a scheme. "That's the spirit," he said. "You're a fighter, I know you are. You know how? I've seen it, and I've heard it too, so don't think you can fool me."

* * *

***"The Second Coming" by W.B. Yeats, written in 1919 and published in 1920 **

**A/N: Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter! As usual, reviews are encouraged, and thank you for your support. **


	47. April 24, 1920

**A/N: So here's a slightly ****lighter chapter that is going to lead to an even lighter (maybe) chapter. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Downton Abbey_. **

* * *

_My darling Mairead- _

_I hope this finds you in good health and in good spirits, something which is hard to find these days, I'm afraid, no matter where you look. _

_I am glad to hear that you're finding Downton more agreeable than you found Manchester, though I imagine having Tom nearby does help immensely. He is just the person I would chose to watch over you in my stead (which is not to say that I foresee anything horrible happening that would lead to my demise, only that, with a sea between us and Isibéal with child, it is rather difficult for us to see each other as often as I know we would both like), and I know there is plenty for you to learn from him. Perhaps you both can ask for a week off in the summertime, around the time the baby is to be born, and come stay with us in Dublin, so I can see how you've grown into a fine young woman, and maybe you'll find a reason to stay this time. _

_It won't be the Ireland you knew that you'll be visiting, I'm afraid. _

_That Ireland is gone, but I am hopeful that the Ireland that takes her place will be a free one, the republic you so often heard me and Tom talk about, a country run by those who've worked its land and spoken its language since God created this earth. _

_This change will be a promise of peace to our country, and there isn't anything better I could wish for you, my dear sister, as well as my own children, who will have a chance neither of us had, a chance to grow up in an Ireland that is truly Irish, without a British administration or any of that nonsense to dictate the independence of a country whose people have been denied a voice when they know what the land wants and so desperately needs. The question of religion can be overlooked, as long as there are no repeats of the Ascendency practices to bar Ireland's Catholics from public office, among other things. _

_My sudden talk of a new Ireland must have you wondering what has gotten into me, that I am speaking as though I intend to join the Citizen's Army despite having promised you and Isibéal that I would do no such thing. While I would like to stand by that promise, I fear I cannot, not with change in the air like it is here. _

_Oh, if only you could feel it, my girl! _

_Then, I'm sure you would understand why I must do what I intend to, and maybe we would see Ireland's independence through together, me in the uniform of the ICA and you in the handsome green tweed of _Cumann na mBan*_, which is led by the most extraordinary of Irishwomen, young and old. I know your work comes first, and as your brother, I respect your choices and admire the dedication with which you have answered what you think to be your calling in life. A life in service is not for all, that much I know, and no doubt it is a demanding vocation, and forgive me for sounding like our grandmam when I say there is no luck except where there is discipline, which I suppose means that you either are or will be the luckiest in this whole family, and rightfully so. _

_You are only just sixteen, and God has yet to reveal His true plan for you, I'm sure (Joan of Arc was an exception, I think), but when the time comes, remember to be strong and to remain true to yourself and your country. Your generation among the English and Americans will see a great change in the war, as will Germans and Russians, but do not think that they are the only ones who will change. _

_I know no great signs attended your birth (nor did they attend mine or Will's or even Bethie's), but you are destined for greatness, my dear sister. Omens be damned, you will be great one day, and our ancestors, the long-dead kings of Aghamilly Castle that Da used to tell us stories about, will rest easy to know that such a fine young lady is counted among their descendants, and they will welcome you at the gates of Heaven when your time comes. _

_You are as brave and as clever as the heroes of old, and you must promise me that you will remember that, no matter what happens to you. There will be times ahead that are most uncertain, but what is certain is that Ireland will be free someday. I know countless others before me have said this, only to die before that freedom is won, but such is the price of independence, and willing are we to pay it if we must. _

_My dearest sister, I hope to see you soon, under the skies of a free Ireland, but until then, I ask that you pray for my protection in the months to come, for the birth of something beautiful is often a difficult one indeed, as the women who attended our mother at your birth would attest to. If I am lucky, and if God is willing, I will see the birth of my second child before I am called to do my part for our country's delivery from the oppressive womb of English rule. I would like for you and Tom to be this child's godparents, for I trust you two would bring it up to be equal parts idealist and realist, and I know you have no intention of being a mother by your body, so let it be by your spirit that you have a child, and love her as I loved you. _

_May God bless you and keep you my dearest, and may we meet in a brighter future. _

_All of my love, _

_Sam _

The letter was dated April 20, 1916, four days before Sam was killed at the start of the Easter Rising.

Of all the letters that had amassed in the wooden box that Mairead kept in her trunk beneath her bed at Downton, this was the letter she knew she would never hesitate to protect with her life. It was the letter that mattered most to her, having come from the last few days of her brother's life, and now, as their Ireland was at war with herself and Sam was in his grave thinking whatever the heroes of that Easter Monday thought as they looked down on the chaos, she felt the need to let each word sink into her memory once more, and maybe then, maybe then she would know what to do.

She read the letter again, wondering what Sam would say if he knew what had happened to her.

Would she still be his "dear sister?" Or would she become the relative that none ever spoke of, except as a cautionary tale to the children, not to end up like Cousin Mairead and her bastard child? Would Sam revoke the privilege of godmother if he knew that his sister had allowed her body to sin, against herself and against God?

_You mustn't think like that, _she told herself, folding the letter closed and placing it in its envelope. Later, she would put it in the wooden box where she kept all of her correspondences, this one more a holy relic than the others

"Mairead, may I come in?"

Mairead looked up from the letter to see Anna standing in the half-open door. _This is her room too, _she reminded herself when she questioned why the lady's maid hadn't knocked (she probably had, but too lightly for Mairead to hear). "Of course," she said, giving the older woman her full attention. "How was France?"

The honeymoon that Anna had told Mairead would only last a fortnight had lasted a month, and Mairead had been glad, in her way, for the older woman's absence. It meant not having to share a room with anyone while nightmares still plagued her, or when she had a moment of sheer panic and lay curled in a ball like a child in its mother's womb for what felt like hours before the feeling passed. Mairead would never have been able to bear to have these things witnessed- what pride she had left didn't allow it- but at the same time, she found herself wishing for the woman's replete kindness and gentle, maternal demeanor.

"It was lovely," came the woman's reply. "It was much warmer than I'm used to, but I managed, as I always do. How is Mr. Bates?"

"He's well, especially given the circumstances," Mairead said. "He misses you terribly, and I know he'll be glad to see you."

"Thank you for visiting him while I was gone." Anna stepped further into the room and closed the door behind her. "How've you been keeping up as head housemaid?"

"It's a challenge, but I don't think it's anything I can't handle."

Anna came and sat on her bed, just across a small aisle from Mairead's. "I knew you'd be up to it," she said, beaming. "Who's that from?"

Mairead looked down at the letter, then back at Anna. "No one." Anna didn't need to know, because if she knew, she would ask more questions, and more questions would lead to more answers, and more answers would only lead to every secret that Mairead kept buried and carefully tucked away being uncovered.

"Is it someone close to you?"

"My brother." She cursed herself for answering. Now Anna would ask more questions, wouldn't she? Mairead had opened up, and Anna wasn't shy- she was concerned, though, concerned and not nosey.

"Did he die in the war?"

Mairead shook her head. "No." She could feel herself beginning to cry.

_Don't cry. Don't you dare cry. It's been four years. You have no right to cry. _

"But he did die, didn't he?"

"Yes ma'am."

"You miss him, don't you?"

_Horribly. _"Yes, but life goes on, doesn't it?"

"I suppose it does, but that doesn't change anything," the older woman said, coming to sit beside Mairead on the bed. "I lost my father when I was very young, and I think of him constantly. He's become like my guardian angel, I suppose, and I'm sure your brother is much the same to you."

_A guardian angel like Sam wouldn't let Nathaniel near me- wouldn't even let such a man so much as _think _about doing what Nathaniel did. _

Mairead only nodded, too afraid to speak lest she get sucked into a bout of hysterics over it all. She let Anna wrap an arm around her shoulders, and after some time, Mairead found herself resting her head in the woman's lap, the envelope set off to the side and her stocking-clad feet tucked up against her body on the bed.

Anna ran her fingers through Mairead's hair, which had been let down while Mairead sequestered herself away in the hour she had to herself before her evening duties were to begin. At first, the contact startled Mairead, but she was soon able to settle down, her vision blurring for a moment before the first few tears fell down her cheeks, turning the area around her eyes an unattractive red color.

"Alfred convinced Mr. Carson to let him and the others go to the spring fair this evening, since the family is taking dinner with friends in York," Anna said after a few minutes, when Mairead had regained her composure but remained with her head in the older woman's lap. "He was wondering if you wanted to go. It would be fun, and from what I've heard you've started to make friends."

"I need to stay and work...I was supposed to be mending Lady Edith's evening gown for when Sir Strallen comes in two days."

"Don't make excuses with me, Mairead," Anna said, a slight sternness in her voice. "You need to have fun, and the fair will do the trick, I promise you. If you're not having fun, Alfred or Harry'll bring you straight home, I'm sure they wouldn't mind if you asked."

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt, then," Mairead said, realizing that Anna, as she so often was, was right. She needed to do something fun, for a change, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity. "When are they leaving?"

"Six o'clock, as soon as the family's left for York."

A small grin twitched at the corner of Mairead's lips as she recalled something one of the maids in Manchester had said when the family went out to dinner. "When the cat's away, the mice come out to play."

"That's the spirit," Anna said, helping Mairead back into a sitting position. "A little fun never hurt anybody, now did it?"

_I suppose not, _Mairead thought as she tidied her appearance, preparing to go back downstairs to finish up the afternoon's tasks. "No, I don't think it did."

* * *

***(T****he Irishwomen's Council), abbreviated CnamB, is an Irish republican women's paramilitary organisation formed in Dublin on 2 April 1914, merging with and dissolving Inghinidhe na hÉireann, and in 1916 it became an auxiliary of the Irish Volunteers**

**A/N: Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!  
**

**It was very history-dense in the beginning, I suppose, but it became less so and now we see Mairead actually making friends and going to have some fun. **

**Thank you, and, as always, reviews are more than welcome. **


	48. A Fair to Remember

As planned, they departed for the fair at six, with a promise to Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson that they would be back before ten, at which time the tradesmen's entrance would be locked and no one admitted without a scolding from the butler.

"And behave yourselves!" Mrs. Patmore had called after them as they left, a wooden stirring spoon at her side.

As soon as they were out of the courtyard, the housemaids and hallboys assembled themselves into a procession of sorts, with Madge and Harry at the head, and Mairead and Alfred taking up the rear, to catch any stragglers.

"I wonder why Daisy isn't coming," Alfred remarked as they started down the road to the village.

Mairead shrugged. "I don't know anymore than you do," she said, surveying the bobbing heads of the junior staff, and counting under her breath to make sure they hadn't lost anyone. "Fourteen, not counting ourselves."

"What?"

"Fourteen," she repeated. "If y'don't count ourselves, there's fourteen. Madge, Harry, Peter, Nellie, Nick, Rosem-"

"You don't need to go naming them all, Mairead. You'll confuse yourself if you do, won't you? As long as we leave the fair with the ones we left Downton with, Mrs. Hughes can't scold either of us for not doing our job," he assured her.

"You're right, I suppose." Mairead's gaze fell to the ground as she tried to hide the blush of embarrassment that spread across her cheeks. "I just worry, that's all."

"You're supposed to be having fun, not worrying."

She laughed. "I'll try to, I promise."

Once at the fair, Mairead made the group pause so she could make it perfectly clear what was going to happen. They would meet back at the very spot where they now stood at twenty-five minutes after nine, and leave no later than half-past, and Mairead also made it clear that she would be reporting straight to Mr. Carson if she suspected anyone had been drinking excessively.

This declaration had been met with hisses from a few of the halboys, and Mairead swore she saw Rosemary roll her eyes.

"Don't worry about them," Alfred told her as they waited for the others to head off before beginning to wander around the fairgrounds. "They'll behave themselves, I'm sure of it."

Mairead nodded and glanced at the rush of activity that surrounded her. It was nothing like the fairs back home, which were usually larger, because everyone came and brought their livestock to show off and maybe make a few shillings off of them. There was some of that here, Mairead realized, her feet carrying her towards the pens and what appeared to be a starting line for a horse race, with Alfred not far behind.

Her gaze darted among the men, who were leading horses to the starting line or trying to get them to calm down after the most recent race, and then to the horses, all handsome creatures, a mix of draft horses and ponies built more for riding than pulling carts.

It reminded her of when she and her cousin Ceilí had gone to watch Tom and Sam race at a local fair, showing off two of the Brennans' colts from two springs ago. Tom had placed ninth out of the ten, while Sam had come in third, a green woolen scarf tied around his waist. The scarf was Isibéal's, while the rust-colored one that Tom wore was Ceilí's, which he'd borrowed without permission when he and Sam left earlier in the day for the fairgrounds. When they dismounted, all the other young men agreed that Sam ought to go compete in the Galway Races that year, he was such a fine jockey. He had the body for it, a bit tall, maybe, but lightly built enough that he could manage just fine, whereas Tom was much stockier than his cousin.

A young man in just his shirtsleeves with his worn grey wool coat folded over his arms caught sight of Mairead and Alfred and approached the two servants, greeting them with a quick nod.

"Come to watch the next race?" he asked, lifting his chin a little, a gesture which gave him the effect of confidence boardering on arrogance.

Mairead looked to Alfred, trying to gauge what the footman wanted to do, and it seemed, by the way his gaze wandered in the direction of things such as the carousel, and the ring-the-bell that she could see Harry attempting without much success, that he did not want to spend much longer in the livestock portion of the affair.

"You can go join the others if y'like," she told the footman. "I can manage on my own for a bit, never you worry."

"Are you sure you can, I mean, but are you alright with it? You wanted everyone to stick together, and I thought…"

"I'll be fine," she said.

It was a lie- she wasn't sure that she would be fine- but she didn't want to upset Alfred too much. Besides, they were in a public place, with hundreds of people around. What was the worst that could happen? No one would dare try and attack her here, she was sure of it, and if they did, Alfred or Harry or one of the others would come to her rescue before any more damage could be done.

Alfred looked to the young man, his fair brows knit together and his lips pressed into a stern line, as if he was trying to imitate Mr. Carson. "I don't mind staying," he said, turning his attention on the young man, as if to make a point of something (Mairead couldn't fathom what exactly).

"Just one race, then we can go join the others," Mairead promised him.

"I don't see why not," Alfred said, taking a protective step closer to Mairead

"I can show you some of the horses that'll be runnin' this next one, if you'd like," the young man offered, already leading them to where the horses were tethered to stakes driven into the ground. He stopped at a handsome bay mare and took her by the bridle before undoing the tether. "This is Saoirse."

"Hullo girl," Mairead said, holding out her hand like her Aunt Bridget had taught her so that the mare could sniff it and decide if Mairead would be allowed to stroke her soft nose.

"Saoirse and Pearse" -he indicated a dun-colored gelding to Saoirse's right- "I got from Ireland. They're Connemara ponies, and fine ones too, aren't you m'girl?"

Saoirse made a "humgphf" sound and tossed her head before butting it against Mairead.

"Are you ridin' one of them in the race?" Mairead asked, giving in to the mare's nudging and running her hand across its neck in long, broad strokes, sometimes massaging little circles with her fingertips.

"Aye."

"Which one?"

"Pearse. My brother was supposed to ride Saoirse here, but he's run off with some girl or something like that and I can't find him for the life of me."

"I'll ride her."

Alfred's eyes widened in shock. "Mairead, you're joking, right?"

Was she joking?

Mairead couldn't tell.

She didn't know why she'd volunteered herself to ride in place of this stranger's brother, when it would hardly be appropriate, never mind that she hardly knew the horse or the owner.

She'd competed on horseback once too, riding against other girls and boys her age on a shortened course, astride her friend Molly Heaney's Aoife, a sturdy draught horse mare that won Mairead third place, just like Mr. Brennan's colt had won Sam third. Unlike her brother, Mairead hadn't worn a colored scarf to distinguish her from the other riders, though she was distinguished enough, riding astride in a skirt instead of sidesaddle, her hair (which was much lighter then, almost true red) flying freely behind her as she fought her way to the finish line.

"Are y'serious?" the young man asked, his expression a cross between impressed and shocked as he took in her appearance.

She'd dressed less formally than she normally would have for an outing such as this, choosing one of the simple dresses like the ones she'd worn to fairs as a child, this one soft grey with a loose skirt that whispered against her wool stockings when she was standing still and the wind moved the light cotton. It wasn't something one would consider proper attire for riding, especially in such mixed company, with locals and colleagues about, and dismissal (or at least a scolding) inevitable if word got back to the Abbey that the head housemaid had ridden astride in a dress with men present.

"I might take y'up on that. Saoirse seems to like you well enough, I can't think of an excuse why not, s'long as your sweetheart here doesn't object."

"He's not my sweetheart," Mairead was quick to say. "And I'm sure he wouldn't, would you, Alfred?"

The footman hesitated before shaking his head. "No I don't, I suppose, though I don't see how you'll ride sidesaddle and still win the race."

"I won't be ridin' sidesaddle, silly," she told him, surprised at her own jovial manner, which had come on so suddenly, you'd think she'd been up to something.

"But-"

"I've ridden astride in a dress before," she assured him. "And I managed just fine."

"If Mr. Carson hears about this, he'll be livid, you know that."

"Don't I ever, Alfred, but y'said it yourself: let's have a bit of fun, yeah? Mr. Carson won't hear, I'm sure, at least not from you."

"I won't breathe a word, as long as you try to be decent."

She rolled her eyes, and turned her attention to the young man. "When's the next race start?"

"Twenty-five minutes, or something like that, I reckon," he answered, glancing at the other horses. "Wouldja care t'warm up some, before they call us to the startin' line? Saoirse'll want t'get used t'you, though by the look of things, sh'already is."

"Of course," Mairead said. "Thanks f'offerin'."

"My pleasure, miss," he said. "I reckon folks'll place bets on you, bein' the only lady rider in the whole race, it would seem, so it's best you're at least comfortable in the saddle, maybe if you win m'brother and I'll make some money off of it."

"I suppose they will."


	49. Between the Saddle and the Ground

The young man's name, Mairead learned, was Charles ("Only m'father calls me that," he'd told her, trotting Pearse in wide circles around Mairead and Saoirse. "You can call me Charlie."), and he and his brother were from Crawley, just south of London. They helped their father breed horses and raise them for racing and fairs such as this one, and they sometimes competed in events themselves.

The jockeys were called to line up five minutes before the race was due to start, and Mairead had handed her hat to Alfred before taking her place between Charlie and a local farm hand, who appeared to be riding one of Mr. Mason's draft horses. They all gave her strange looks, as if they'd never seen a woman riding a horse before, or as if she wasn't supposed to be here in the first place, but no one raised his voice to complain. They were all too eager to start, leaning forward in their saddles, all five of the other competitors, Charlie included.

Mairead, meanwhile, sat back in her saddle, appearing every bit the young woman they must've thought her to be, though she wanted to be poised just as they were, ready to spur Saoirse into a gallop the second the starting pistol went off. She'd hiked her skirt up in the front as high as she dared and gathered it up in the back, where she knew it wouldn't stay once she got moving but there was really no point in fussing over such a thing as trivial as that.

"Now, you're t'go down to that marker down there"- the old man acting as the referee pointed to a pole that would come to Mairead's waist on horseback, from which several colored ribbons were tied- "and retrieve the colored ribbon that you were told to."

"Come on with it!" jeered one of the jockeys. "It'll be dark 'fore we start."

"On yer marks...get set…"

_BANG! _

Mairead gave Saoirse a good kick in the side, adjusting her position as the bay mare sprung forward, fighting her way through the ranks. They passed Mr. Mason's draft horse easily, and soon overtook a short-legged, slightly swaybacked bay, putting Mairead and Saoirse in third, behind Pearse and a horse and rider she didn't recognize.

"C'mon girl," she whispered into the horse's mane, trying to at least get neck-and-neck with Charlie and Pearse, and then worry about getting ahead of the other rider.

It had been ages since she'd been on a horse, but she was able to recall the necessary things to keep her in the saddle. With every stride, her body was thrown up and down, and her thighs and calves burned as she struggled to maintain the half-sitting, half- standing, hunched-over posture of a Galway jockey. The others rode with their bodies much more relaxed than hers, but she knew it would only end with them saddle-sore the next day, when the whiskey'd left their bodies to wade through the soreness.

The air around her drowned out the cheers of those who'd gathered to watch, and each breath made what should've been cool, liquid air burn its way down into her lungs as if it was smoke. The fringe of her vision swam, her attention devoted to the space ahead of her, space she knew she had to close if she wanted to win the race.

"Jus'a little further."

The pole with its colored ribbons wasn't far off, and neither was the leading horse, and then it would be an easy ride from there to the finish line.

"There we go girl." Mairead dared to slow down so she could round the pole and retrieve her ribbon (which was, appropriately, a stately green), standing up in the saddle despite the protestation of her untrained legs. "Easy 'round, and off y'go. That's'a girl."

As soon as the ribbon was wrapped securely around her fingers, she urged her mount forward, overtaking the first place rider in a few strides. There was no way she could relent now, not when she'd taken first place and was only a couple hundred feet from the finish line. She'd gotten to the lead, more or less against all odds, but could she stay there?

She could relent and let the dappled carthorse that she'd pushed past return to his position in first place, and she wouldn't suffer. She didn't have anything to prove, did she? She was just racing for fun; she didn't want any of the prize money (though it certainly wouldn't go amiss), nor did she want to go down in village history as the young woman who won a race against all men, like Atalanta from that book of Greek myths that one of the hall boys had borrowed and shared with the rest of the junior staff. Why did she let herself act on an impulse like that?

The finish line was a hundred feet away.

She still had a chance to turn things around, and correct what had clearly been a grave mistake. She could do it now. It wouldn't take much, only a tug of the reins backwards to slow Saoirse to an easy canter.

Eighty feet.

_Make a choice, foolish girl! _

Seventy feet.

Her hands curled around the reins, ready to pull, either towards her or to the left, to make it look like the horse had gotten the better of her.

Sixty feet.

She thought she heard Alfred cheering her on, and she saw the footman waving his cap in the air like a pennant at a football match, his cheeks red from calling out.

Fifty feet.

She could hear the sound of approaching horses, and she felt Saoirse falter again beneath her.

Forty feet.

_Make your choice! _

Thirty feet.

Her dress was whipping behind her like a banner, and her hair was beginning to break free of its knot, flying about her face.

Twenty feet.

Her hands curled around the reins, burning despite the callouses from years of hard work.

Fifteen feet.

Alfred was shouting her name, along with several of the hall boys who were close to her age, and...was that Mr. Mason? No, it couldn't be, could it?

Ten feet.

_Too late now, _she thought as she neared the finish line, crossing the markers with her colored ribbon fluttering behind her.

She fell back in the saddle, still holding the reins in a white-knuckled grip. In her chest, her heart raced, and her lungs burned with each breath, a dry, drawn-out pain that forced her eyes shut. She could feel Saoirse moving forward, being led by someone no doubt, away from the finish line and out of the way of the incoming competitors.

"Well this'll be int'restin' t'explain, don't you think?" one of the young men asked. "How we lost t'a girl."

Despite her exhaustion, Mairead's lip curled into a half-snarl, and she opened her eyes, taking the reins from the old man who'd led her thus far and turning Saoirse in a tight circle.

"Ooh, I'd watch m'self, Ned. She looks like she might bite you if you say anythin' more."

"What in God's name is that girl doing on my horse?" someone bellowed from the crowd, and the gathered spectators cleared to let a man who must've been Charlie's brother or father through. "Charles!"

_So his father then, _Mairead thought, remembering what Charlie had told her, about his father being the only one to call him "Charles." She watched as Charlie and Pearse appeared at her side. "I'm sorry," she said, tossing her head, an action which loosened the rest of her hair, letting it fall down her back.

Charlie shook his head. "I told her she could ride, Da. Chris wasn't ready when they called, and Saoirse seemed to be takin' a liking to her, so I didn't see much harm in it, really."

"Didn't see much harm? She's not a horsewoman, for one, and she's riding astride, when a lady, no matter her breeding, rides sidesaddle when dressed like that." The man turned his attention on Mairead. "Didn't your mother ever teach'cha that?"

In attempt to appease the man, Mairead nodded, though it was a lie. Her mother'd never taught her how to ride properly, but rather Sam had, and he'd taught her to ride astride, regardless of what she was wearing. Women like her didn't have the luxury of riding sidesaddle, whether it was proper or not.

"Dismount," the man said, his eyes trained on her.

"Da, let her get to the mounting block at least."

Charlie's father shook his head. "I want her off my horse now! I paid good money for her, and I'm not going t'let her be ruined by some lass who thinks she's above riding in the women's race, on her own feckin' horse." He addressed Mairead again: "Dismount."

"Da-"

"I said: dismount. Dinnit y'hear? Or are y'deaf?"

"I…" Mairead wasn't sure what to say. She could feel Saoirse's unease, and she remembered how easily horses were spooked, especially by this sort of thing. _Shh girl. It's alright. It's alright. _

"God Almighty." Charlie's father grabbed the reins as close to the bit as he could manage- Mairead felt him pulling the reins from her hand, but she tightened her grip, determined to stand her ground. "Where's your father, young lady? Does he know you're here, racin' like you did?"

"I-"

"What'd he say if he knew you'd won? I bet th'others _let_ you win- some good that'll do them, cowards." He held his hand out to one of the young men who'd led her to where she now stood, and he was handed a frayed riding crop.

At the sight of the riding crop, Saoirse let out a shrill whinny and tried to back up, only to be yanked back by Charlie's father. The Connemara mare then tossed her head, anything to stay away from the crop, Mairead realized, trying to soothe the creature.

"Da, you're frightening her," Charlie warned, swinging himself over Pearse's back and landing on the ground, taking only a second to make sure one of the onlookers had a firm grip on the stallion's bridle. He approached Saoirse, who was getting more restless with each passing moment, tossing her head and bunching her muscles as if to rear onto her hind legs, sometimes attempting to do just that, only to be dragged down by Charlie's father.

Mairead searched the crowd for Alfred, hoping that he was nearby, if only to know that there was someone she knew who would help her. _Where are you? _she wondered, feeling panic find its way into her blood, reemerging just when she thought it had left her alone for the most part. _Please please, Alfred, please be near. _

She should've felt it coming, felt the way Saoirse's hindquarters and side tightened, should've seen the flash of alarm in Charlie's eyes, but it wasn't until she felt the slack in the reins that she realized the horse had managed to tear itself from the firm grip of Charlie's father, rearing onto sturdy hind legs and pawing the air.

She wasn't sure what to do.

Did she dare drop the reins and grab Saoirse's mane, and risk falling backwards, possibly dying or putting herself in a state that would keep her from working for the rest of her life? She'd seen it happen, well, she'd seen it almost happen, but she'd heard about it plenty. It was one of the reasons Sam didn't want to become a jockey, why Aunt Bridget forbade him from becoming one and forbade her daughters from marrying horsemen who competed in these things for a living.

She tightened her legs around Saoirse's middle, putting all her strength into keeping a firm grip there, while she furiously wound the reins around her hands, pulling them close to her chest.

_Dear Lord, don't let me fall off. Don't let me fall off. Please don't let me fall off. Please let Saoirse calm down. Please make Charlie's father stop. Please let Alfred be nearby. Please don't let any of the others see it, except for him. Please. Just let me get off this horse. _

When Saoirse had all four hooves on the ground, Mairead felt someone place their hands on her waist as she slid out of the saddle, either by herself or with the help of another person, holding her steady and keeping her from collapsing in a heap on the trampled grass. Her body, tired and burning with exhaustion as it was, screamed in alarm when she was able to fully register the unanticipated contact, but she was only able to put up a fight that was more like a newborn squirming in its cradle.

It would be so easy for someone here to take her like Nathaniel had, she was so vulnerable right now, dazed with fear and saddlesore as she was.

"Let me through," she thought she heard Alfred say, though she wasn't sure. "I said let me through to her!"

When she saw Alfred coming towards her, she thought she might cry out with joy, but a lump had risen in her throat and refused to let itself be swallowed. She straightened herself, in case he didn't see her, but her quivering legs forced her to loosen her posture.

"Is she yours?" Charlie's father asked Alfred as the footman wrapped an arm around Mairead in order to support her. He was still holding the riding crop, and he flicked it towards Mairead's face, causing her to flinch and bury her face in Alfred's side.

"She's no one's," Alfred answered, though Mairead knew she could've done just as well herself, though perhaps not now. "She doesn't belong t'no one, so stop treating her as such."

"No good'll come of her, I'm tellin' ya."

"Well you can tell it to Mrs. Hughes up at the Abbey, if y'think so strongly that it's true," Henry said, coming to stand at Mairead's side.

Alfred shot him a glare, and so did Mairead.

"Jus'take me home," she told Alfred, looking up at the tall young man. "Please."

He nodded, his attention still fixed on Charlie's father. "I will," he told her. "Henry, you and Madge are in charge. Tell them Mairead took ill and I've taken her back to the Abbey. Stick with Mairead's original plan, and make sure everyone is present, understand?"

"Got it. Will y'be alright takin' her by yourself?"

"I'll manage. Go ahead. Mairead, let's go home, and we'll sort things out there."

Mairead nodded eagerly at his suggestion. She just wanted to be safe again, was that too much to ask? Clearly, it was, or this wouldn't have happened. Or was her own pride to blame? No, she mustn't think like that. She only wanted to have fun, to do something on impulse for the first time in years, and it'd seemed harmless at first, so why was she at fault?

"Jus'take me home."


	50. Lavender's Blue

Anna was sitting in the servants' hall when she heard the door open, and she felt a rush of cold air come in from outside. She glanced at the clock on the wall, thinking that maybe the hours had escaped her and it was already time for the junior staff and their two chaperones to return from the fair, only to find that it was not, and wouldn't be for another three-quarters of an hour.

_I suppose I ought to see who it is, _she thought, setting Lady Mary's evening gown on the table before rushing to investigate, her stomach twisting into loose, anxious knots as she rounded the corner to see Alfred helping Mairead to stand.

"What happened?" she asked, taking in the young woman's disheveled appearance and the expression of panic crossed with remembered pain that Anna knew all too well from her own experience.

Was that what'd happened here? Had someone tried to…? One of the hall boys…? No, she couldn't think like that. Even the most cheeky of the hall boys wouldn't dare do such a thing. Shame on her for thinking that about them!

"I don't know," Alfred admitted, shaking his head. "Well I do, it's just…I don't know _exactly_ what happened."

Anna could only nod. "Let's get her to sit at least," she said. "She looks like she might fall over any second. Come on. There's warm water for tea, which'll do her some good until she calms down some."

Anna was glad that Mairead didn't open her mouth to protest, though at the same time, it worried her. She'd never known Mairead to let others help her this willingly, and surely if she wasn't protesting now, something had to be wrong. It was impossible to ignore, and as wrong as Anna wanted to be, she feared she might be correct.

In his most recent letter (posted two days before her return from France), Mr. Bates had hinted that something was bothering Mairead, though he hadn't explicitly stated _what_ it was. This only strengthened Anna's conviction that someone had hurt Mairead. How she'd acted at Crawley House perpetuated this sinking suspicion that Mairead was hiding something, and Anna was afraid for the young woman. Such secrets could break even the strongest of spirits, and Anna knew the fear and shame they carried all too well.

"Anna, are they back from the fair?" Anna heard Mrs. Hughes ask before the housekeeper joined them at the entrance to the servants' hall. At the sight of Alfred practically holding Mairead upright, her eyes widened and her lips parted in a small, shocked "o." "Good Heavens, what happened?"

Alfred swallowed and glanced at the ground. "I don't know, Mrs. Hughes," he said, his feet shuffling. "She…she…"

"I wasn't feelin' well," Mairead interrupted, her voice quieter than Anna had ever heard her speak. "I left…I left Madge an' Harry in charge, Mrs. Hughes. I hope you won' mind."

Mrs. Hughes pressed her lips together in a tight line. "No, I don't," she said, her stern expression softening as she appraised the girl's condition. "But I want you going straight to bed, and if you still feel ill in the morning, I want you seeing Dr. Clarkson. Am I understood?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Anna, will you go up with Mairead?"

Anna nodded. "Certainly," she said, not hesitating to go take Mairead from Alfred. The girl was taller than Anna by an inch, but, for better or for worse, she wasn't too heavy, which would make the job much easier. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up and to bed."

"Thank you. Alfred, if I might have a word."

The footman paled a little, and swallowed again. "Of course Mrs. Hughes."

"You're not in trouble if that's what you think this is about," the housekeeper assured him, watching closely as Anna guided Mairead over to the stairs.

Anna glanced over her shoulder. "Should I come back down later?"

"Yes Anna, please do," Mrs. Hughes said, her brow still furrowed with worry. "I want to speak with you as well."

The lady's maid nodded and began to coax Mairead up the stairs, grasping the young girl gently by the elbows and murmuring words of encouragement with each step. She couldn't help but note the way Mairead walked, her steps small and never completed, as if keeping her feet together between steps (even if only for a little while) was painful, nor could she ignore the feeling of the younger woman's body trembling slightly in her gentle hold.

It was all too familiar to Anna, whose own small body had once shook with the same instability as she took shaky steps away from the prying eyes of her family and peers. She had gotten better with time, no longer succumbing to sudden and inexplicable bouts of fear and anxiety as she had after… She no longer tensed whenever someone touched her, though she was still easily startled by sudden noises, sometimes more than others, often without much explanation as to why. Time had also healed any of the physical reminders of what'd happened to her, more quickly than it took to repair the emotional damage, though Anna knew that was expected, for her body to recover before her spirit did.

They made it up to the servants' rooms without running into any other members of the staff, and Anna thanked God for that, because she wasn't sure she wanted Mairead to be seen by Thomas or Mr. Carson in this state. There wouldn't be any deterring them if they wanted to find out what'd happened to Downton's head housemaid, and Anna feared she would be forced to lie in order to defend the innocent Mairead.

"Do you want to take a bath?" Anna closed the door behind her with her foot, reluctant to release Mairead.

Mairead nodded. "Yes," she said, letting Anna help her sit down on the side of her bed. "I can manage it...on my own, Mrs. Bates."

"Are you sure?" Mairead nodded, but Anna knew better than to let the girl to herself, at least not until she was more confident that Mairead wouldn't slip and drown in the tub. "At least let me sit in the room with you, so I can make sure you're okay, and let me wash your hair for you too."

"I can manage, Mrs. Bates, I can, I swear."

"I know, and I don't doubt it, but I told Mrs. Hughes I would keep an eye on you." This was only a partial lie; while Mrs. Hughes hadn't explicitly stated that she wanted Mairead looked after as closely, it was heavily implied.

The head housemaid's job included looking after the younger maids- making sure they were getting along and that they had someone to come to if they needed to be comforted- that much was true, but who watched over the head housemaid? Naturally, the job fell to the lady's maid, Anna'd decided, though in cases when there was only one lady's maid and she was of a disposition similar to that of Mrs. O'Brien's, it was the housekeeper's place. If this was Anna's reasoning, and if there were now two lady's maids that could take care of the current head housemaid, then wasn't it Anna's responsibility?

"I can manage," Mairead said again, her lips set into a stubborn line.

"I'm sure you can, but rather safe than sorry, right?"

The tight set of Mairead's lips loosened, and the girl nodded in reluctant agreement. "Yes Mrs. Bates."

"That's it. Let's get you cleaned up and off to bed, and hopefully you'll feel better in the morning."

* * *

After a quick bath, Anna noticed that Mairead had calmed down a bit, the color returning to her cheeks and her body becoming more steady. It was enough progress that Anna let the younger woman dress herself for bed, deciding that if she tried to mother Mairead too much, it would only end poorly for the both of them, and she would therefore content herself to be patient and only do as she was asked and keep forcing Mairead into anything to a minimum.

Now, they were sitting on Mairead's bed, Mairead under the covers with her reddish-brown hair hanging in wet waves against her back, and Anna sitting near her on top of the bedsheets. Anna could smell the hint of lavender soap that she'd offered the younger woman in the washroom, remembering what she'd learned about the calming effects of the flower's scent from helping the Crawley sisters bathe, which had led her to purchase lavender soap when she knew she'd be able to afford it (which was, rather unfortunately, a rare occasion, though Lady Mary must've learnt of this affinity Anna had for the scent, for sometimes the lady would make gifts of it to her, which was most gracious of her). Mairead had accepted the soap, and she had allowed Anna to massage it into her scalp, which the lady's maid did, just as gently as if she was helping Lady Mary bathe.

"Mrs. Bates?"

Anna felt her back straighten. Mairead had been silent until just then, something that didn't bother Anna, as Mairead was often silent for long stretches of time, but the sudden sound did startle her the slightest bit.

"Yes?"

Mairead shifted underneath the covers, tucking her legs against her body, grimacing, and then stretching them out again. "Can you help me with my hair?"

Anna nodded. "Of course."

"Thank you." The younger woman's countenance brightened a little, taking some of the weight from Anna's heart.

Anna reached for the comb first and began to pull it gently through Mairead's long hair, humming a song her mother must've sung to her at some point in her short childhood. The words escaped her for the most part, though it seemed that Mairead had heard her and had joined in with the words, her voice filling the still room with its childlike sweetness.

"_Lavender's blue, dilly dilly, lavender's green, _

_When I am king, dilly, dilly, You shall be queen._

_Who told you so, dilly, dilly, who told you so?_

_'Twas my own heart, dilly, dilly, that told me so." _

"My mother used to sing that to me," Anna told Mairead as she began to plait the girl's hair.

"My mam never sang t'me," said the girl, dropping her head towards her chest, and Anna thought for a moment that the girl was going to cry. "I learned it from m'cousin Ceilí, though she might've learnt it from her mam."

_Perhaps it's unwise to ask about her mother, _Anna thought, tying off the long braid with a ribbon that'd been lying beside to comb. "You have a lovely voice."

"Thank you. Tom-Mr. Branson, sorry- used to tease me, sayin' I'd turn into a lark or a nightengale or somethin' like that if I weren't careful. He was always teasin' me, but he wasn't ever mean about it. Always kind, in the end, him and Sam."

"Sam?"

"My brother."

"Is that the one whose letter you were reading earlier?"

At this, Mairead's body stiffened, and she didn't reply. She made an attempt to pull away from Anna, which Anna allowed, seeing as she was done helping the girl with her hair anyways. "Goodnight Mrs. Bates," she said, nestling herself under the covers and laying her head on the pillow.

Anna couldn't help but allow a tender smile to spread across her face. "Goodnight Mairead," she said, reaching to dim the light, at least until she knew the girl was fully asleep, at which point she would leave the room and go to Mrs. Hughes. "Sweet dreams."


	51. Marry In May, Rue the Day

**A/N: So this is a bit of a filler chapter, also my attempt at experimentation with different styles of storytelling (also so I can acknowledge Edith's failed wedding to complete the "Crawley Wedding Trinity," as I've heard it called). **

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Downton Abbey,_ nor is Nick Harris completely and entirely mine either.**

* * *

_May 1920 _

"Can you believe it- left at the altar! In front'ov ev'ryone!"

"It's a shock, tha's for sure."

"I don't think I'd be able t'bear the same of it'all."

"You're so vain, Rosemary, o'course y'couldn't."

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"I heard she's carryin' his child, that's why she 'ad to marry 'im."

"No, no,you've got it wrong. It's like Lady Mary wi' Sir Carlisle. Sir Strallen was blackmailin' Lady Edith."

"You an' your conspiracies, Nick!"

"They're not, I swear!"

"Don' let Mairead hear you. Y'know how she'll get."

"What? She doesn't care for Lady Edith, an' everyone knows it."

"Tha' won't keep her from snitchin' on you like she did Ethel."

"Ethel?"

"Yeah. Nellie knew her- she was there. Wasn't much, I'll say."

"And you'd know, Nick Harris?"

"N-no, no'like that, no. She was quiet's a mouse, almost'as liberal'n'crazy as tha'old chauffeur, th'Irish one."

"Branson?"

"The one who married Lady Sybil, yeah."

"Wouldn't go talkin' bout him 'round Mairead either. They're good friends, y'know."

"She a Fenian too?"

"God knows. She knows. We don't."

"Well if we end up burnt'alive in our beds, we'll know who did it."

"Who, you?"

"No Madge, y'daft bird, that shrew."

"She's rather kind, actually, very polite. Hardly shrewish. If you want a shrew, might I suggest Mrs. O'Brien?"

"Oh Christ."

"Don't roll your eyes at me like that, Nick Harris. It's very unbecoming. What you can do is keep helpin' to clear the place before the family gets back from th'chapel."

"You sound jus'like her."

"Oh hush. Rosemary, I need help with the cake, if you'd be so kind, and let's try not to gossip."

* * *

**A/N: I hope you enjoyed this little chapter of gossip and hearing what the world thinks about Mairead... Thank you for reading, and please leave a review if you would be so kind. **

**Thank you~**


	52. Suspicion

_July 1920_

"Downton Abbey, Carson the butler speaking. "

"Mr. Carson"— the speaker was clearly Irish, and clearly out of breath— "it's Tom Branson."

The butler rolled his eyes. With the wine selection for the evening still to be finalized and any number of things that could go wrong between now and the Archbishop's visit, he simply didn't have time for this.

"How may I be of service, Mr. Branson?" he asked, the neutrality of his tone belying his irritation.

"May I speak with Mairead Hayes, please?"

"Mr. Branson, she's quite occupied right now, I don't think—"

"It's important," the Irishman said. "She'll understand."

Again, Charles rolled his eyes, but found nothing else to do but concede. "I'll see what can be done. Please wait a moment."

_Dear God,_ he thought, setting the telephone down on his desk and taking long, quiet strides to the door of his pantry. _That man is going to unravel this whole household if I let him, isn't he? _

"Mr. Barrow," he said, glad to have caught the temporary valet heading in the direction of the servants' hall.

"Yes Mr. Carson?"

_Stop being so smug. You aren't the cat who's got the cream, young man. _

"Can you find Miss Hayes and bring her to my pantry?" Though it was punctuated as a question, both Charles and Thomas knew that it was to be regarded as an order, and nothing less.

"Any reason, in case she asks?"

"I would hope she has the sense not to question orders, Mr. Barrow, not if she wishes to keep her job."

Thomas gave him a curt nod. "Of course. I'll fetch her right away."

"Preferably _now, _Mr. Barrow," Charles said, arching his brows and glancing down at the valet, reminding him who was in charge here. "Time is of the essence, it would seem."

Without a word, Thomas sprinted in the direction he'd been walking either, the first place anyone with any sense would look to find one of the housemaids at this hour, and Charles breathed a sigh of relief. That relief was short-lived, however, when he remembered who was waiting on the other end of the line.

What could Branson want with one of the maids?

Hopefully the two weren't conspiring against the family, no, that wouldn't do, not at all. Mairead didn't seem like the sort- she kept to herself and was very thorough in her work, never slacked, rarely took half-days (almost never, come to think of it, save for that week in June, according to Mrs. Hughes)- and that at least was reassuring. What troubled Charles about this was how Branson had been dissembling enough to cover up his affair with Lady Sybil for God-knows how long, which caused him to wonder if Miss Hayes was hiding something too.

Was she secretly part of the radicals he'd read about when there'd been the rising in Dublin, so many years ago? Charles had heard about there being women involved, including a woman named Constance Markievicz, who was, from what Charles understood, a _countess_. It had been hard enough for the butler to accept an American as the Lady Grantham, so he could only imagine the trials and tribulations of having an Irish Republican in such a position.

"Mr. Barrow said you wanted t'see me, sir?"

The sound of the head housemaid's distinct voice brought Charles back to the present, back to England, and back to Downton.

"Ah, Mairead." He gestured for her to come into his pantry, and watched as she took a few cautious steps over the threshold, pausing before she came further into the room. "Mr. Branson called, and he asked to speak with you."

"Did he say why, sir?"

Charles shook his head. "Only that it was important and that you would understand," he told the head housemaid, watching for her reaction, which perhaps would provide some insight as to what this was all about.

Realization lit up her face for a moment before her usual professionalism returned, and she gave him a tight nod. "And I do," she said, glancing with what could almost be described as longing at the telephone. "May I?"

"Please." He stepped to the side and allowed her to take the device, resolving to stay in the room to supervise and make sure she wasn't up to any questionable activities. He knew she would understand, and if she didn't, she wouldn't comment or ask him to leave on account of his rank.

"Tom?"

Charles cringed at the brazen manner with which she addressed the ex-chauffeur; not even in his days at Downton had the Irishman been called by his Christian name, and no woman of Mairead's standing would dare to address a social superior in such a manner.

"Oh my Lord," Mairead murmured, biting her lip, and Charles saw some of the color drain from her cheeks as she shifted uneasily on her feet, as if she'd just received horrible news. "And their sister?"

He wondered if he should get Mrs. Hughes, in case something truly tragic had happened and the young woman before him needed to be comforted, but he decided against it. If Mairead wanted to be comforted, she would seek out comfort, preferably on her own time, and not when she was supposed to be working.

"Okay," the head housemaid breathed, the tension leaving her body and her eyes shining with relief. "God bless you both. Goodbye."

"May I ask what was so urgent, Mairead, that Mr. Branson felt the need to telephone a _maid _at this hour?"

She didn't flinch at the emphasis that he'd placed on the word "maid," nor did he expect her to. She knew her place, and all he did was remind her where she was, and where Mr. Branson was now, and how they were different.

"Good friends of ours were arrested, one of them...one of them was killed, sir," she said, her voice firm and even ("controlled," was a better word for it, really) as she spoke, her eyes fixed on the butler and her hands at her side, palms pressed to her skirt.

_Fenians, no doubt, _Charles thought, pressing his lips into an impassive line. If she was lying, it would be on her conscience, he decided. Things would come to light eventually, and Charles didn't want to be wrong in his assumptions, no matter how correct he thought he was this time. There was something about this whole business that struck him as odd, something between Mr. Branson and Mairead Hayes that almost seemed...conspiratorial, like from the moment the young Irishwoman arrived at Downton, something greater had set itself into motion, and the others could only sit back and watch.

"And their sister?"

She froze. "She wasn't at home, sir, when the Black an' Tans came." The firmness in her voice gave way to such obvious venom that Charles almost flinched. "And thank God for that."

"I see…" The butler cleared his throat and pulled at his livery, straightening it. "You may go now, Mairead, unless you have any more business to see to in here, which I know you do not."

"Of course," she said, bobbing a small curtsey. "Thank you, Mr. Carson."

He nodded, and she turned and left after casting a worried glance at the telephone, which didn't go unnoticed by Mr. Carson.

_Best keep an eye on her_, he decided, _or, better yet, ask Mrs. Hughes to do that. It's more her place, and she'd scold you for interfering with her maids. She'll get to the bottom of this, I'm sure. _


	53. Eyes Were Watching Through the Night

_August 1920_

Ever since Tom had telephoned with the news, Mairead found herself growing more and more anxious with each passing day.

_It could happen any day now_, she thought, remembering what Tom had told her, about there being no set date for the undertaking (he hadn't told her the exact nature of the event that was going to occur, only that it could put them in hot water if they weren't careful). He'd been able to give her an estimate, though, relaying what someone had said about it taking place late in the summer, and, only a few days into August as it was, it would be sure to happen within the week.

Every day, Mairead waited to hear from Tom, hoping that he would have something to tell her about what was going to happen, but there was nothing.

No telegrams, no letters, not even from Sybil.

Nothing.

No doubt the rest of Downton's staff had noticed the change in her as the summer wore on, from her sudden loss of appetite, to the way she couldn't seem to sit still, while other times she looked as if she might keel over from exhaustion. It was true that she was having difficulty sleeping, afraid that at any given moment, Tom and Sybil could be in danger, not to mention she still suffered from occasional night terrors, though they were nowhere near as bad as they'd been after...after Nathaniel.

Nathaniel.

Every time she so much as thought about him, she felt everything he'd done to her as if it was only minutes after Mr. Barrow had come to her rescue. She'd gotten better since then; she was no longer prone to sudden bouts of terror, not as often as she'd been in the first three months after the attack, when she spent more time cowering than she was proud of. Six months later, and her stomach hadn't grown in any way that suggested she was with child, which came as a relief for sure.

Every time she thought about him, she felt her cheeks burn with shame, and her chest would begin to constrict with dread. The feeling would pass- it always did- but there were times when she feared it wouldn't, that she would succumb all over again to the weakness he had left her with.

_Tom,_ she would tell herself._ Focus on Tom. He's the one in danger now. Any day, it could happen, you know it could. The riots in Belfast earlier this month are proof enough, as are the allowances made by the Restoration of Order in Ireland Act._

Despite all of the horrors that had rocked her country since Tom's warning, and how they were praised at the servants' table, as well as at His Lordship's table, Mairead could only keep silent. Foremost, because she didn't want to endanger her cousin or any of her family back home, or risk losing her job because she sympathized with her country and not their oppressors, who sat around and above her. Listening to them praise Churchill for the initiative to send former British Army officers to Ireland as reinforcements for the RIC made her stomach churn, but she couldn't excuse herself from the table. They knew she was Irish, that these were her people- her cousins, her friends, and most importantly, her country- that were being beaten down and treated no better than animals. Did they expect her to sit idle while they degraded her homeland?

She didn't speak up for a second reason, and that was perhaps the most frustrating for her. She didn't have the energy to defend her country, not in the state she was, waiting every day on the edge of her seat for word from Tom about what was going to happen.

Finally, on the day after the town hall at Templemore was burnt down by the British Army in reparation for the murder of one of their District Inspectors at the hands of a local IRA volunteer, something did happen.

* * *

"Will that be all m'lady?"

Lady Edith examined her reflection in the mirror, angling her body this way and that, her pale, peach-colored gown moving silently with her. "Yes, I think so," she said. "Thank you Mairead, and do tell Madge I hope she feels better."

"Certainly m'lady."

With that, Mairead turned and left, Lady Edith's day dress folded neatly over her arms, still mulling over yesterday's news.

Oh, it'd been in the papers here all right, painted as a victory against the Irish, but Mairead could feel that the British victory wouldn't last long. These days, that's how it worked- an eye for an eye. The IRA would retaliate, if they hadn't already, and the cycle would continue, until there was nothing left of her beloved home.

The topic of Ireland, thank goodness, was not among the conversations that filled dinner that evening, though that didn't stop Mairead from excusing herself early. Mrs. Hughes allowed her to go, but Anna expressed concern over the food Mairead had left on her plate- she'd eaten some, but her stomach was twisting too fiercely for her to continue eating. The lady's maid didn't comment, but her pointed look was enough to tell Mairead that her continued lack of appetite didn't go unnoticed.

She went straight for the door, not bothering to tell anyone where she was going. They could hear her, and she wouldn't be going far- just out to the courtyard for some fresh air- nor would she be gone long.

Once outside, Mairead could smell the promise of heavy rain, a promise that was close to being fulfilled, if the misty drizzle that she felt against her face was any indication. In the distance, she thought she heard the quiet roll of thunder, the feet of an army stopping and then starting again, nearing where Downton lay in peace. A storm was coming, the first storm of the month, and it would break before morning, Mairead decided, as heavy and seemingly endless as summer storms were.

_Rain._

_Vicious, torrential rain fell like pebbles on Tom's head as he hurried off of the ferry, trying to seem as inconspicuous as possible, in case the police here had been told what had happened. He had to get to the train station, where he'd find the next train going to York- he knew there wouldn't be any to Ripon- and hope that God was working for him and not against him. He needed to get as far away from Ireland as possible, at least until the ashes of the estate that he'd help burn to the ground were cool. The Irish Sea wouldn't be enough to keep him from danger at the moment; he needed to put land between him and the War of Independence, then he could decide what was to be done._

She sat just inside of the stone arch, her cheek pressed against the cool, damp stone and her eyes trained on the dirt road that went around the back of the Abbey. Her mind wandered down the road, and she thought of the stories she'd grown up with, stories about fairies and spirits that frequented roadsides on nights like tonight. She wondered if any of the creatures she'd been told about as a child in Ireland lived here, or if the English woods' inhabitants were cousins to those she knew.

_Donal Brennan had mentioned that they had a correspondent in Liverpool, in case any of their number were forced to flee (though what good would hiding in the heart of the enemy's territory do any of them?), but Tom didn't want to risk it. Besides, he and Sybil had agreed to meet at Downton, an agreement that had been reluctantly accepted by Tom, who knew Lord Grantham wouldn't hesitate to turn him in once what Tom had done came to light. The earl might even enjoy it, and use it as proof that Tom was not fit to be married to Sybil._

It was a childish notion, and she should've known better than to act on it, but this sudden curiosity over English and Irish spirits compelled her to leave the safety of the courtyard and venture a ways down the road. She knew the way well enough that she felt confident enough to act on this whim, promising herself that she would stay within sight of the Abbey, where His Lordship and his family dined with the Archbishop of York. The exercise would do her good, and the rain was a welcome respite from the stifling warmth of the servants' hall, sprinkling her skin with clear, impish kisses.

Dear God, please keep her safe, _Tom prayed as he ran onto the train bound for York, not daring to look back in hopes that Sybil had, by some miracle, made it onto the same ferry as he in Dublin, and would be coming right on his heels. However, he feared that he was being followed, and so he kept his gaze fixed straight ahead, the brim of his hat tipped downward and dripping water into his eyes as he settled himself in the third-class carriage._

The rain started picking up, becoming more bold as it fell in heavy drops against her skin, rolling down her neck and following the curve of her spine the way a marble rolls along a track, cold, solid and smooth. Strong winds passed through the leafy branches of the surrounding trees and raced after Mairead, begging for her to take her hair down like she might've done when she was younger.

Mairead only shook her head, tossing a few wet strands of hair to the wind before they fell back against her face. She was no longer at the age where wearing her hair down was permissible, regardless of how well-brushed she kept it or how pretty she thought it was. Besides, it was only milkmaids and country girls who wore their hair down, if anyone did at her age, and Mairead wasn't any of those things. She was a housemaid- _head_ housemaid- in one of the finest homes in all of England; she was expected to show some level of sophistication.

_For the entire train ride to York, Tom sat as still as a statue, trying to give the impression of calm to his fellow passengers, who knew nothing about why he looked so harried, or why he hadn't boarded with even an overnight bag. To them, he was just another passenger, a nobody. Not a man on the run, not an Irishman (he hadn't opened his mouth, for fear it would be what betrayed him), and not a man with anything to hide._

_Outside, the rain continued to fall, hitting the roof of the carriage and filling Tom's ears with the sound of a thousand bullets firing in the distance. With each bullet fired, Tom felt his body tense, and his jaw tightened as his body twinged with each imaginary explosion on pain. Even with the Irish Sea and at least fifty miles of rail behind him, Tom still wasn't free of what happened, not yet, and neither was Sybil._

Her feet carried her towards the cottages along a wall that came to just above her waist, built from sturdy cement and cobblestones that were now slick with rain water. Overhead, the clouds let out a low rumble, closer now, and when the rain was the only sound once more, Mairead thought she heard footsteps coming towards her, each footfall splashing in the mud and puddles on the road.

_God had answered his prayers, and there was a train about to leave for Ripon just as Tom's pulled in, which he caught and rode in the same silence that he'd observed between Liverpool and York._

_He began running as soon as the train pulled into the Ripon train station, waiting until he was closer to the town outskirts to break into a full-out run, following the road sign to Downton village along the main road for as long as he dared. He knew the back roads and the woods would be the safest, and luckily, he knew the way from Ripon to Downton well enough from his days working as a chauffeur. Those had been simpler times, times he would never have back, for better or for worse._

Someone was coming.

_He could see the Abbey in the distance, and his surroundings were beginning to become familiar. He could see the lights in the windows of cottages, one of which had been his, once upon a time, and the familiar, cobbled wall rose up on his side._

_His lungs burned and his eyes stung with rainwater, and truth be told, he couldn't see much in the darkness, only the lights of the Abbey ahead, like a lighthouse beacon in the heart of a storm. The only noise that he heard was the sound of his breathing; he didn't think he'd ever run this hard in his life, though, then again, he'd never had to run for his life like this._

_There had been games of hide-and-seek or capture the flag that he'd played as a child where he'd put his heart and soul into running as fast as he could to evade capture by the enemy teams, but this was different. Here, if he was caught, "jail" wouldn't be the base of the old oak at the top of the hill- it would be three walls and iron bars for life, not just until he was freed by his teammates. His flag was a slip of blue paper in the breast pocket of his coat that marked him as belonging to the prey of the Black and Tans, the enemy of the whole British presence in Ireland, though it was less of a victory flag and more of a scarlet letter._

_Why didn't he get rid of it? Throw it to the side of the road, rip it into many tiny pieces and bury them in the runny soil, the way unbaptized children and suicides were- out of sight and out of mind?_

_Why did he even have it in the first place?_

It was then that she turned towards the Abbey, her heart hammering in her chest, though she forced herself to refrain from running. She would only make noise if she ran, and she was probably making enough noise as it was, picking her way along the road now that it had begun to get muddy, hoping to spare her shoes from getting too dirty. She picked up her skirts, lengthening her strides and hoping that her skirts did not rustle like the trees, or that the trees would disguise the sound of her movement.

_He didn't have time to answer this question before a startled cry caught his attention, and he dared to slow down, holding onto the wall for support. Feet plashed through the mud that the road had become, away from him and towards the Abbey. He could hear the panic in each step as he followed, only able to manage a steady jog as his legs and lungs burned despite the cold rain that plastered his coat and shirt to his body. Mud splattered his trousers and found its way into his shoes, almost causing his step to falter, which would've led to him tripping and falling flat on his face._

_He was too near to the Abbey to give up now._

"To go back would be as tedious as to go o'er," _he thought, finding the fact that, even despite his panic and his body's exhaustion, he was able to quote Shakespeare, and quite aptly, too. Mairead would be proud, though perhaps she would call him a fool for thinking about Shakespeare when he ought to be thinking about his own safety._

Someone was there.

_Almost home_, she thought, seeing the light that hung by the back entrance to the Abbey. As she passed through the stone arch, she slowed to a staggering halt, slouching forward as she made her way to the door, making sure her shoes didn't have obscene amounts of mud caked on them before she entered through the door, careful to close it quietly behind her so she didn't make herself too well known.

_There were only about two hundred feet between him and the safety of Downton._

_He'd given up on all hopes of Sybil having made it to England with him, because if she had, he would've stayed with her. He'd promised to take care of her for the rest of his days, come Hell or high water. If it were up to him, she would be by his side now, perhaps astride a stolen horse, because a woman as pregnant as she couldn't run, not without endangering herself or the baby._

Dear God, please protect her and her child. Don't punish them on my account. Let her get here safely, and then You can do as You will with me, _he thought as he staggered to the front door, leaning against the old stone as he reached for the knocker, his arms as heavy as lead as he knocked on the doors of the great house._

"There you are," she heard Anna say. "Goodness, Mairead, you're soaking wet."

"I'll go change," Mairead assured the older woman, already making her way up the stairs. She'd have to redo her hair too, in order to correct the strands that had fallen against her neck while she was outside.

"'Cuse me Mairead," Alfred said as he barreled past the young woman, nearly knocking her down the stairs in his hurry.

_He probably brought in the wrong sauce again_, she thought, continuing on her way to the attic rooms. _Poor lad._

She hurried to change, because dinner would be over soon and she wouldn't be late to take care of Lady Edith on the one night she'd been asked to fill in as lady's maid. She couldn't be caught slacking just because her promotion to head housemaid came with less work, especially since Mrs. Hughes had decided to allow Madge to continue training up to be lady's maid to Lady Edith for when the second Crawley daughter finally married. She'd been promoted on account of her hard work, and she wasn't going to let that disappear just because she'd been met with better fortunes. Her goal of housekeeper was still a ways away, and it wasn't going to be reached if she let the quality of her work go down.

_He knocked again, wondering why no one had answered the door. The family would be in the middle of dinner, yes, but surely one of the footmen would come answer the door, or maybe Mairead would come and let him in. She knew he was coming-Templemore had been the sign he and the others had waited for, and he knew she would sense it too- though if she knew he was coming, why wasn't she there to greet him?_

_He knocked again._

"What had Alfred so in a hurry?" Mairead asked when she returned to the servants' hall. "He nearly sent me fallin' down the stairs, looked like he'd seen a ghost."

"If only," O'Brien remarked, her lips curling into a hint of a snarl around her cigarette. "According to him, Branson's here, soaked t'the bone, an'-"

Tom.

Tom was here.

Her heart seized with something that was part joy, part fear, and she found herself racing from the servants' hall and towards the stairs, where she almost collided with Mr. Carson.

"Pardon me, Mr. Carson," she said, noticing that the butler was carrying a tray with a bowl of squash soup (from earlier in the family's dinner, though, miraculously, it seemed to have some steam curling off of the surface), a couple of slices of bread from the servants' table , and a fresh pot of tea.

"I would think so," he said, peering down at her. "Might I ask where you were going in such a hurry all of a sudden? Lady Edith hasn't rung-the family isn't even through the main course yet."

_The tray must be for Tom_, she thought, doing her best to refrain from telling the butler that Tom didn't like squash (true, growing up as Tom and Mairead did didn't allow for one to be very picky, but Tom detested squash so much such that if there was another option, he would jump at it). That would only give Mr. Carson more of a reason to talk down to her, maybe even push for her demotion.

"Do you want me to take that up to To-Mr. Branson? No doubt they're missing you in the dining room, sir."

Why did she phrase it like that? It sounded too much like something Mr. Barrow would say, snide and clearly trying to get Mr. Carson out of her way. That wasn't her goal at all, it wasn't, she'd swear to it. She just saw it as a convenient excuse to see Tom, and really, she was doing Mr. Carson a favor, so he could go back to his usual place in the dining room.

Mr. Carson narrowed his eyes, watching her as a hawk watches a mouse in the field before diving in to snap it up for lunch. "I will not be long, Miss Hayes," he told her, still staring her down. "Not to mention it would be most inappropriate for a housemaid to be going into the bachelor's wing at this hour."

_He's my cousin, for Christ's sake!_ she thought, but kept herself from saying those words. Of all the people in this house, it was Mr. Carson who needed to know the least about her relationship to Tom. She'd lie to no one else about it but Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes, the only people in the staff who held any real power over her.

"Please sir, I'd be glad to do it," she said, determined not to let him see the panic that was beginning to surface for reasons she didn't understand. Mr. Carson wasn't hurting her, nor did she see him as a threat, but her body was responding in a way that it responded to anything even slightly unnerving since she was attacked. "I'll just take it up and come back, I promise."

"I think I'd better take it," came his response, his tone firm and the underlying message beyond apparent. _This is the end of the discussion_, he seemed to say, still watching her with narrow eyes and rigid posture.

"Sir, I really don't see why I can't-"

"Because I said so, and my word in this house is law-"

_But he's my cousin. My family. Don't I have a right to see him?_

"- and I will not have you behaving in such an insubordinate manner."

"Mr. Carson, I didn't mean to be insubordinate, sir."

"Then let me pass, Miss Hayes, if you'd be so kind."

"May I ask what's going on here?"

At the sound of Mrs. Hughes's voice, both Mairead and Mr. Carson took a step away from each other, Mairead dropping her gaze to the ground while Mr. Carson met the housekeeper's grey eyes.

"Miss Hayes asked to go take the tray up to Mr. Branson," the butler said, conveying the matter as if Mairead had asked to do something more scandalous than take her cousin dinner.

"That's awfully kind of her, Mr. Carson, offering her time when she could be sitting with the others and a cup of cocoa," the housekeeper said, her gaze falling on Mairead.

"But it's hardly appropriate, wouldn't you think? A housemaid in the bachelor's wing? You haven't forgotten what happened with Ms. Parks, have you?"

Pain flashed across Mrs. Hughes's face, so quickly that Mairead almost missed it as the Scotswoman broke eye contact and looked at the floor for barely the space of a breath. "That was different," she said, meeting the butler's indignant gaze, her own expression now fierce and hard, injured, almost. "Mr. Branson is Mairead's ki-her friend, and her countryman, so is it so wrong that she's worried for him?"

"I'm not saying it is, but when it means she can come and go across boundaries that are clearly defined, there is a problem with it."

"To you there might be, but to me, there isn't, and it's I who have the final say in what she does, isn't that true?"

"I suppose it is." Mr. Carson cleared his throat. "What, if I may so bold, is your ruling in the matter, then?"

A small smile found its way to Mrs. Hughes's lips. "Let her take the tray up." She turned to Mairead. "You may visit with Mr. Branson, but if I hear of any shenanigans, I will not make such allowances again, am I understood?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Excellent. Mr. Carson, the tray, if you will."

Again, he cleared his throat before offering the tray to Mairead. "Here you are, Miss Hayes."

She took the tray without a word, only a polite nod to both the housekeeper and the butler, before she made her way up the stairs.

It didn't take long for Mairead to find the room where her cousin had been settled, no doubt by Alfred or Mr. Matthew, and she waited for her cousin's delayed "come in" before entering, still retaining her manners despite her worry.

First things first, she set the tray on the bureau and checked that everything was in proper condition, that nothing had sloshed around as she made her way up the stairs, and then she turned her attention to Tom.

If Alfred had seen a ghost, Tom had seen a whole host of spirits, he was so pale, his dark blonde hair rich brown from the rain water against his brow and he looked so exhausted, lying on the bed, his shirt (borrowed, most likely from Mr. Matthew) half buttoned and his hands spread out like Christ on the cross. Mairead could see the rise and fall of his chest, only now becoming less labored and more smooth.

"Tom," she breathed, going to sit beside him on the bed.

He looked up at her. "Mairead," he murmured, and she tried to shift his body so he could lay his head in her lap. "What are you doing up here?"

"Mrs. Hughes let me bring you something to eat," she explained, smoothing his hair away from his face. "It's squash soup, just to give fair warning."

He wrinkled his nose. "Where did you put it?"

"On the bureau. Let me get it for you," she said, easing herself out from under his head and going to fetch the tray. "Did it finally happen?"

He watched her. "Did what…? Oh." His eyes lit up with dull recognition. "Yes it did. It did, and Mairead...it was horrible...I...Forgive me for ever taking part in such a thing."

"Of course I do," she assured him. "And I'm sure Sybil does too."

"Mmhm."

Mairead's stomach twisted. Something wasn't right here. Sybil. Where was Sybil?

"Tom?"

"Yes?"

"Where's Sybil?"


	54. Shelter in the Storm

"Where is Sybil?"

Tom sat up, and rested his arms on his legs, his lips pressed tightly together.

"Tom, where's Sybil?"

She felt panic quicken in her chest, and her heart began to climb up her throat, worry pulling tight the knot in her stomach that had been there for months now, making it almost unbearable. Heat flooded her cheeks, anger at Tom for not answering her, and anger at herself for not noticing sooner.

"Where is Sybil?" she asked, her voice breaking, and she reached for one of the bed's four posters, steadying herself as the world began to rock back and forth, like a ferry crossing the turbulent Irish Sea. "Tom, answer me. Answer me please!"

She heard the mattress let out a faint whine, and soon, she felt Tom's arms around her, holding her close to his body. She could feel his heart pressing against her cheek, moving quickly, like hers was, and she could also feel the tension in his chest, just as tight as hers.

"Tom, where's Sybil? You said she was coming with you. Where is she?"

"I don't know," he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before bending to embrace her more fully

Mairead looped her arms around Tom's neck, pulling him to her and breathing in the smell of soap and the hint of sweat that clung to her cousin. "Why don't you know? Where is she?"

"There was a change of plans," he said, cupping her head in his palm just beneath the knot she'd done it up in when she changed into dry clothes. "Things got mixed up, they moved too quickly, I couldn't….I couldn't….Oh Christ, Mairead! There's no use, I should've known, I should've been more careful. Then this wouldn't've happened."

She swallowed, her chest tightening when she realized that his hands were trembling against her skull, and she unhooked her arms so she could take her cousin's face in her hands. "Hush, _col ceathrar_*," she said, rising onto the balls of her feet in order to place a chaste kiss on his lips.

She refrained from speaking anything but concern and comfort to her cousin; it was more than clear that he knew he had done something wrong, and she wasn't about to deepen his guilt and shame. He would never do the same thing to her, and so neither would she. If he had chosen to fight on the side of Ireland, she would respect that and wouldn't let it come between them.

"I left Sybil, Mairead. I left her, and our child in a country that is at war with itself, a country that isn't hers, and men like Michael Collins and those who follow him, who will not hesitate to hurt her."

"Is it that bad?"

He nodded. "Yes, and...I thought I could protect her from it, by…" He looked away, and Mairead let go of him.

Her stomach dropped. "Tom, you didn't….?"

"Aye, I did."

She covered her mouth. "Dear God," she breathed, lowering herself onto the bed. "Does Sybil know?"

He shook his head. "She knows I was- I _am_\- associated with the Dáil, because of my work with the newspaper, but it isn't on their orders that we acted…Forgive me, Mairead, please forgive me."

"You don't have t'ask for my forgiveness," Mairead told him. "It's Sybil whose forgiveness you've got t'ask for. Hers and your child's."

"Good God. You're right." Tom sat beside Mairead and reached for her hand, only to withdraw it and curl it into a fist in his lap. "How could I be so selfish? What do I tell Lord Grantham? He'll turn me over if I tell him anything, and I'll have t'tell him something, I know it. What do I do, Mairead?"

"Before I spoke…Before I spoke to Mr. Matthew after I was…attacked, Sybil told me to tell the truth." She stared down at her lap, the inside of her lip caught between her teeth. "That's what you've got to tell His Lordship- the truth."

"What is the truth, though? All my life's been for the past year is the blind leading the blind."

"You're not like the others," she told him. "Let His Lordship see that. Let him be proven wrong. Show 'im the Tom Branson I know, who would do anythin' for his family, who sought'only to protect them."

"Some job I've done," Tom scoffed. "Sybil's alone in Dublin, eight months pregnant, and I haven't a way to contact her. I can only pray that she's still alive."

"I'm sure she is," Mairead said, rubbing gentle circles in Tom's back. "And telling His Lordship about what happened might make things easier for her…I'm skeptical, but it's always worth a try. I'll come by when I'm done with Lady Edith, I promise. Do you need anything in the meanwhile?"

He shook his head. "Just pray for Sybil, please."

"I will. I promise."

* * *

When Mairead returned to Tom's room, she found her cousin lying on the bed, one hand behind his head while the other rested on his stomach. She could hear the sound of him crying- she'd heard it once or twice before in her immediate memory- and went to go lay beside him.

They had done this as children, spending nights on the hillside in the late summer, looking up at the stars and humming airs in the mild darkness. Sometimes Sam had been there too, and Mairead would lie between him and Tom, occasionally falling asleep, which meant that either her brother or her cousin would have to carry her home, allowing her to sleep on until morning.

That had been ages ago, it seemed, and Mairead doubted it was still safe to sleep out in the open like that, or even venture as far past Aunt Bridget's farm as they'd done when they were younger.

"How did it go?" she asked, folding her hands on top of her stomach and glancing over at her cousin.

What light there was in the room reflected off his cheeks, showing almost-dry tear tracks and the trembling lips of his profile. Mairead could hear the stutter of his breath- he was trying to calm himself down.

"Lord Grantham's opinion of you doesn't matter, Tom," she said flatly, rolling onto her side and using her arm to prop herself up. "He doesn't know anything about what's goin' on over there, an'if he did, he wouldn'tunderstand. You did what y'ad t'do."

"I left Sybil in Ireland, Mairead! I left my wife, who I promised- in th'eyes of God, I promised i'th'eyes of God!- to protect from her from harm an'never leave, no matter what. "Whither thou goest, I go," Ruth one-sixteen." His eyes were still turned towards the ceiling, towards Heaven, perhaps. "Do y'know how hard it was for me t'tell His Lordship that I left his daughter, who soon'll bear his first gran'child, in a country that hates 'er kind?"

"You didn't leave her, Tom," Mairead said, moving closer to her cousin and placing her arm across his chest. "I don't know what His Lordship told you, but you didn't leave her. Don't let him make you believe that."

"But he's right, Mairead. He's right, and it's all my fault if Sybil's hurt, or if the child...If something happens to the child. I don't want to lose her, I don't want to lose the child, I don't want to lose you, I don't want to lose anything, not anymore than I already have."

"Hush," she said, squeezing his arm. "You haven't lost me, and y'won't lose Sybil or your child."

Tom turned on his side and Mairead let him pull her close. "He said he'll see what he can do."

"His Lordship?"

"Yes. I can't imagine why. I don't deserve it. God knows I don't. I should be in prison, dead, maybe, and Sybil should be here."

"Tom, Tom, Tom, Tom," she murmured, biting her lip. "Don't do that to yourself. Please don't do that to yourself."

"Don't tell me what t'do, Mairead." He pushed away from her and sat up, his legs dangling over the side of the bed and his back to Mairead. "You didn't make the choice, you don't have t'live with it. Just leave me be."

"Tom-"

"I asked you to leave!"

Her teeth dug deeper into the flesh of her lip, and she stood, still watching him. "Tom, I'm not tryin' to-"

"Christ's sake, Mairead, leave!"

She stiffened, watching him with unblinking eyes. If she blinked, he would see that she was crying, and if she wanted to maintain some semblance of strength, she could not cry, not even in front of Tom. "Good night then," she said, retrieving the tray that she'd brought up earlier before she made her way to the door, hoping that her cousin would find peace.

The food on the tray was uneaten.

* * *

***cousin **


	55. Great Expectations

The morning came and went as it always did, in a blur of dust motes and swept-away ashes, with the only sound being the sweeping of curtains and the soft steps of the housemaids through Downton's corridors.

The rainstorm had passed over by the first hours of sunlight, though light grey clouds still spread themselves across the sky, mirroring the waves of mist that washed over the grounds of the great estate. The woods on the edge of the property were tangled in thick woolen fog that would be combed out by the time the family was awake, and scattered this way and that by the slow winds of late summer. On the edge of those fog-wrapped woods, a doe walked with her fawn, who was just beginning to lose its spots, and swallows twittered silently from bushes and trees.

"Mairead, come on," Madge chided, taking Mairead by the wrist and pulling her away from the window of the study.

"Of course," Mairead said, shaking her head. "Sorry."

Madge smiled and released Mairead, placing the same hand on the head housemaid's shoulder. "No harm done," she assured the other girl. "I won't tell Mrs. Hughes, I promise."

This made Mairead laugh- it was small and rather strained, but a laugh nonetheless. "Thank you. It won't happen again."

"Don't go sayin' that, 'cause you never know, do you?"

"I suppose y'don't, no," Mairead said, surveying the study.

All was as it should be, she decided. The cushions had been adequately plumped, the curtains were open and the room was filling with light, and the new kitchen maid (who was doubling as the scullery maid, it seemed, at least at the moment), Ivy, had just finished laying the fire. The mantel of the fireplace had been swept clean of all the dust that might've settled in the night, as had the surface of His Lordship's writing desk, and the flower arrangement on the small table by the window had been examined and any wilting blooms removed.

"We ought t'head down, don't you think? Breakfast'll be soon an-"

"Mairead."

At the sound of Mrs. Hughes's voice, both Mairead and Madge turned their attention towards the housekeeper, jumping to attention like the hair on their arms stood at attention whenever a cold breeze blew the right way.

"Yes ma'am?"

"Might I borrow you for a moment? Madge, please head downstairs if you're finished."

Mairead knew that Mrs. Hughes's question was less of a question and more of an order, and despite the stern kindness that was always present in the woman's voice, Mairead couldn't help but worry.

What had she done?

Did Mr. Barrow tell Mrs. Hughes what had happened with her and Nathaniel?

Not the truth, but whatever twisted, tainted version he could concoct. Did he tell her that?

_Dear Lord forgive me. _

Mairead knew she shouldn't be so suspicious of Mr. Barrow, especially after all he'd done to help her, but there was no helping it. He'd helped her out of human decency- he'd told Sybil just that, hadn't he? He owed Mairead nothing, and she knew she owed him everything.

What might've happened if he'd just kept walking down the corridor, drowning out her screams with his own plots? Would she have been found, or would she have been left when Nathaniel had taken his fill of her to fend for herself? And what then?

"Mairead, is everything alright?" Mrs. Hughes asked, knitting her brows together.

Mairead swallowed the rising lump in her throat and forced her breathing to become steady before she answered: "Yes ma'am, forgive me."

"Madge, please go downstairs," Mrs. Hughes said, her attention still on Mairead, though her grey eyes followed the second housemaid out of the room, returning to Mairead when the door closed, leaving the two women alone.

Mairead did much the same thing, though her eyes remained fixed on the door, hoping her friend might come back. As long as Madge was there, Mairead was more sure of her ability to remain calm, and she knew Mrs. Hughes wouldn't ask about anything that Mairead would rather not talk about- though that was most things, nowadays.

"Come with me," the housekeeper instructed, already beginning to lead the way, heading out of the study and towards the servants' stairway.

Mairead followed, taking each step carefully in hopes that she wouldn't step on one of them the wrong way and cause it to squeal underfoot. When Mrs. Hughes led her through the servants' corridors and through the doorway of her sitting room, the head housemaid followed without a word until the door was shut behind her.

_No running from it now, _she thought, resisting the urge to look towards the door, which would surely give away her guilt. _Might as well tell the truth...but _only _if she asks. Perhaps you can hide for a while longer. _

"Please sit," the Scotswoman said, gesturing towards the settee. Her lips were set in a stern line, like Mrs. Hayes's, but her eyes glinted with a softer sternness than the other housekeeper's ever had.

"I would rather stand, ma'am," Mairead said, mindful of her tone. "If y'don't mind, that is."

"If that's what you'd prefer, I see no issue." The sternness was still in the housekeeper's expression, but not in her voice.

"Thank you."

Mrs. Hughes brushed the formality aside. "Mairead, I've noticed lately that you don't seem to be as...on top of things as you once were," she began, and Mairead's stomach coiled into a guilty knot.

_So this is what she wanted to talk about. She's going to demote me, or worse, sack me. _

"I don't deny it."

"Is everything alright? I know, what with everything that's happening in Ireland these days, you must be horribly worried, and recently with Mr. Branson, no doubt that played its own part in your behavior last night."

"I didn't mean to speak to Mr. Carson that way, ma'am," Mairead said, biting the inside of her lip as she felt sweat creep down the back of her neck, while some crawled between her breasts.

"I'm sure you didn't," the older woman said, "but please remember that I took Anna's word for it when I made the decision to place you in the position of head housemaid. I'd like to think that you're made of stern stuff when it comes to taking these things in stride. People die and it's a tragedy, I know, but life goes on, and you've always been a hard worker, no matter what the world's thrown at you."

The lump rose in her throat again.

She was going to be dismissed, she could feel Mrs. Hughes approaching it with the steady dependability of a train nearing the station. Would telling her what happened make a difference now, or was it too late?

"I'm sorry."

Was that all she had to say? Was she not going to rise and defend herself? She wasn't innocent of the offenses Mrs. Hughes had described, that was true, but she ought to at least explain why she'd fallen from grace, in hopes that Mrs. Hughes would be forgiving.

"You're worried for Lady Sybil, aren't you?"

Mairead blinked several times, mulling over the question before she answered. "Yes, I am," she admitted. "Ireland isn't friendly towards people like her, because that's who they want out, and with good reason." _Stupid thing to say, what a stupid thing to say_. "I trust Mr. Branson t'keep her safe, but I don't think even he can do that."

"I see," Mrs. Hughes said. "Well, I expect to see you return to your hard work, or else I will be forced to consider dismissing you or putting Madge in your place."

"Yes ma'am."

"I'm glad that we are understood. Now, if you would be so kind, please see to it that the Willow Suite is aired out properly for when Lady Sybil arrives. Anna will help you, as will Madge, but it is your job to see that it is done."

"Yes ma'am."

"I know you're a hard worker, Mairead. I've seen it, and Mr. Carson didn't miss it either. You could be housekeeper some day, when I'm gone"- a look of fleeting sadness, almost despair, crossed her face- "if you kept working as hard as you did when you first came."

"Thank you Mrs. Hughes," Mairead said. "I'll do my best, I promise."

"Good. Now off you go to breakfast. Don't look at me like that I'll be right along, I just have some things I need to see to."


	56. Bittersweet Reunion

"Mairead, you're wanted upstairs," Alfred said as he entered the room at a brisk walk, his eyes racing up and down the table until he found her, sitting in her usual spot. "I have a feeling it's fairly urgent."

He didn't need to say that, because Mairead had already risen from the table, her chair groaning against the floor as she pushed it back, and began to head upstairs. Anticipation buzzed in her stomach, louder than it had all day, though there was the soft hum of hope there too, telling her not to worry, that there was something good. Why that hope was there, she had no idea, but she made no effort to silence it, for it seemed like it would be a sin if she did.

She climbed the stairs as quickly as she dared, hope and dread still fighting in her stomach and in her chest, and before she opened the baize door, she forced herself to be calm. _Betray nothing, _she told herself, straightening her posture and making sure everything was in order. If she was wanted upstairs, that meant one of the family wanted to see her, and she had to look presentable in their presence, not a thread out of place, otherwise, she might as well come before them in her underthings with her hair down.

_Don't keep them waiting. _

She pushed open the door, taking every step confidently but not pridefully, and making sure that the _tap-tap_ of her shoes were as loud as the claws of mice skittering about a stone floor. There, but not quite- that was what she had to be, what every servant had to be. Seen and not heard, or not seen and not heard, never not seen and heard. That had been one of Mrs. Hayes's frequent lectures to Mairead and the other maids at the Downings' house, along with lectures on how to behave when addressed by members of the family and how to behave in the city on the occasion that they were allowed to venture outside of what she thought of as Downing House (though in reality, it bore no such name).

Anna was waiting at the bottom of the main stair, a small suitcase- more of an overnight bag, really- clutched in her hand. "Take this upstairs to the Willow Suite," she instructed, passing the bag to Mairead. "Use the main stair- no one's looking."

Mairead did as she was told, taking the bag and climbing the two sweeping flights of stairs with only a little difficulty, but that was overcome easily enough. Her body hummed more loudly now, hope overtaking anxiety as she neared the Willow Suite, which she'd aired out only hours before.

She knocked on the door, and waited.

"Come in," said a voice so familiar it made Mairead's heart soar.

Sybil!

She was safe after all, thank Heaven! She was safe and she was home…

No, this was not her home, not anymore. Now that she was married to Tom, Ireland was her home, and she was far from there, though that perhaps was a good thing.

Mairead opened the door, set the overnight bag on the floor, and ran to embrace Sybil, heedless of the way she let the door slam shut behind her.

Sybil was here, and she was safe.

"Thank God," she whispered, her posture dissolving as she let out a sigh of relief. "You made it. Thank God. I was so worried, I thought...Thank God you're alright."

"It's good to see you too, Mairead," Sybil said, squeezing the younger woman close before releasing her and holding her at arm's length. "How have you been?"

"Much better, thank you."

And it was true.

The fear that had occupied her mind since Tom's telephone call in May had disappeared, and so did the anxiety provoked by her discussion with Mrs. Hughes that morning.

It was gone now; Mairead didn't know where it went, but she was glad it had left her, even if it was only for the time being.

She could feel the firm roundness of Sybil's pregnant stomach against her body, and she felt her lips curl into a small smile, which broadened when she felt the unborn child kick. "You haven't got long now, have you?"

Sybil cocked her head to the side, her lips pursed in confusion at Mairead's words. "Haven't got long until what?" The baby kicked again, and Sybil beamed. "Oh, yes. No, I haven't got long. I think she'll be born in less than a month."

"In September, just like her mother," Tom said, rising from where he'd been sitting by the fireplace and coming to join the embrace. "The month of abundance and beautiful leaves."

"Why thank you," Sybil said, nuzzling Tom. She glanced back at Mairead. "I'm very thankful for you sister-in-law's help, Mairead. She helped me make it through...before the first ferry, and I am forever in her debt."

Mairead's chest swelled with pride at the mention of Isibéal's kindness towards Sybil. She didn't expect anything less of her sister-in-law, in fact, she expected such a thing to happen, but it was the actual occurrence of the event that surprised her. In a way, she supposed it frightened her too, that things were so bad that Isibéal's assistance placed Sybil in her debt.

"Isibéal'd never hold you to that," Mairead told Sybil, withdrawing from the embrace so that Tom could have his wife to himself, without Mairead inserting herself further into their lives. "Is there anything you need? I can bring up tea, or something for luncheon...I don't know when you arrived, but I could manage something if you'd like."

Sybil's expression dimmed, and she pulled herself from Tom, prepared to remove herself entirely from his embrace. Some brightness returned after a few moments, but she remained where she was, touching-but-not-touching her husband, almost caught between the two. "Will you come up later?" she asked, her eyes bright and hopeful.

Mairead gave her a brisk nod. "Most likely," she said. "You're dining with His Lordship and the family, I hope?"

Tom swallowed. "Aye," he said, his jaw clenched tight, and Mairead could see that there was something he wanted to say, something he wasn't saying, and wasn't going to say. "Thank you."

"Of course. Welcome back m'lady."


	57. Argument

"Mairead, might I talk with you for a moment?"

At the sound of her cousin's voice, Mairead glanced up from the clothes she'd found in the attic and was now hanging in the Willow Suite's wardrobe for Sybil to use for as long as she and Tom would be at Downton.

"Of course," she said, still going about her work. She could listen and work at the same time; she'd done it plenty of times before, so why not now? "What about?"

He took a breath, and Mairead heard him clear his throat. "About...what happened in Ireland," he told her.

"So y'told His Lordship about the part y'played?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him reach to run a hand through his hair. "Aye."

"Can't imagine he had anything to say in congratulations," she remarked as she hung up a delicate grey tea gown with white trim.

"You're right, he didn't, but I think he's forgiven me."

"And why d'y'think that?"

Tom bit his lip. "He made a few calls, and..."

"And?"

"And you won't have to worry 'bout me being arrested...or worse."

"Tom, that's wonderful!" Mairead exclaimed, placing the last garment in the wardrobe and turning to embrace her cousin, her heart leaping with joy for him and for Sybil.

She found it oddly satisfying to know that Lord Grantham put his family before his upper-class attitudes about King and Country. It deepened her respect for him, almost, made her want to personally thank the earl herself, as awkward as that might get (not to mention how grossly inappropriate that it would be if she dared to do that). It brought out the humanity in him, and it esteemed him in her eyes, that he was using his upper-class connections for a worthy purpose.

It was a moment before Tom returned the embrace, his hands placed tentatively on Mairead's back, his fingers splayed wide. "He had a condition, though," he said. "I can't go back to Ireland."

Mairead pulled away from Tom. Had she heard him correctly? "Sorry?" she said, her brows knit together. She couldn't have heard him correctly. "What'd'ya mean, you can't go back to Ireland?"

"I can't Mairead." She could see the sadness in his eyes as he spoke, the quiet anger that was perhaps better called resignation. "If I go back, the RIC has every right to arrest me for my involvement, but as long as I stay away from there, they cannot touch me or Sybil."

She shook her head. "He can't do that, Tom. Ireland is your home, your country. You can't abandon your country like that!"

"I'm not abandonin' Ireland, _a stóirín,_" he told her.

"Then what are y'doin'?" Her cheeks flooded with heat. No. No. She couldn't let him see that this upsetted her. She didn't want to lose him more than she already had. "You can't let His Lordship push you 'round. He wants t'be able t'say he's got a respectable son'n-law, that's why he want's you 'ere. 'E wants y'on a leash."

"Mairead, how could you?!" Tom demanded, eyes flashing. "How couldja be so narrow-minded that y'think sucha thing? His Lordship hasn'tever been anythin' but kind t'me, an' I know he'd never want t'change me."

"Tom, itisn't that." She struggled to control her racing heart, trying to keep the venom from her voice. "You've always said y'want t'help Ireland be free, an' I know violence isn't the answer but neither's cowardice."

"So I'm a coward for wantin' Sybil t'be safe then, am I?" he asked, the anger in his voice diminishing, though she could still hear it. "If it were Sam with-"

"Don't!" she snapped, her hands curling into fists at her sides. "Don't bring Sam into this. If he were 'ere, he'd be tellin' you what I am now: y'can't let yourself be threatened like this."

"Lord Grantham is not threatenin' me, Mairead," Tom said. "Dear Lord, what happened to you? Wasn'tit you who told me not t'protest when the called me up, t'go quietly and respectfully, off t'die for a country that isn't mine?"

"That was three years ago. Time passes, people change, that's how the world works," she said, her lips set in a firm line. "I'm no better than you, but at least I know I would go fight t'get the British out of my country if I could. I want t'see her free in my lifetime, since Sam couldn't see it in his."

"Then why don't you?"

"Why don't I wha-Oh."

How clever of him! How clever of him to pose such a question.

Why didn't she go?

She could go now. Turn in her notice and catch the next train to Liverpool and from there, the ferry to Dublin. She didn't have to stay- she'd set aside enough that she might be fine if she was careful, though that would mean no more sending some of her earnings to Isibéal.

"Isibéal."

Isibéal and Daniel and Erin- that was why she stayed, so she could support them in her brother's absence. Isibéal'd lost her husband because of violence like the War of Independence and the hostilities it had fostered, and her children had lost their father.

It was the only way to a free Ireland now, that much was true, but it wasn't a war Mairead could fight in. She needed to be here, so she could make enough money to support her family in the days to come. She couldn't go fight. She wasn't a killer, not like the RIC, not like the IRA, not like anyone of them.

"I wouldn't be able t'support Isibéal and her little ones."

"Exactly." A smug smile- more inviting than the ones that often graced Mr. Barrow's features, but almost just as smug- settled itself on Tom's face. "I need to stay here for Sybil, and for our child. You understand that way, yeah?"

"Suppose I do," Mairead said, relieved to see the agitation leave Tom's features. "I'm sorry."

"Your heart's in the right place, Mairead," he told her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "And I commend you for that, but you've got t'respect the choice I'm making here. I'm doing it for Sybil and our child, and for you too. It's not to slight Ireland in the slightest, but there's other ways of fightin', and not all men are meant to carry pikes and rifles. Some are better off with pens and typewriters if you get my meaning."

"Aye, I do." A small grin found its way to her expression. "I suppose that means I can help fight some too, right?"

He laughed. "Perhaps. I'm not sure Mr. Carson or Mrs. Hughes would allow it, but you're welcome to give it a go sometime. In the meantime, I'd stick with what you've got going for y'now. Your mam'd be proud if you became a housekeeper."

"Y'think?"

"I suppose she would...can't be certain, but there's a way t'find out, isn't there? I know you can do it. You've got the stubborn will of a mule but the work ethic of a saint. Anythin's possible."


	58. Promises Made

_September 1920 _

Mairead was helping Sybil dress when it happened.

It wasn't anything remarkable, just a surprised cry of "oh!" from the older woman's lips and two hands cradling her stomach.

"What is it, m'lady?" Mairead asked, setting the finely-made shawl she'd picked out the night before down on the chair where it'd rested before her arrival. "Should I send for Dr. Clarkson?"

Sybil bit her lip and shook her head. "It...The baby...It dropped," she said, her worry turning into excitement. "She's going to be born soon."

"She?"

The older woman's cheeks turned red, and a sheepish smile crossed her lips. "Mother's intuition," she clarified.

A quiet laugh escaped Mairead's lips. In the presence of anyone but Sybil, she would've been embarrassed and would've begged forgiveness for her inappropriate display. "Tom will be glad whatever it is," she said. "You could lay an egg, and he would be overjoyed."

"Really?"

Mairead pressed her lips together, thinking. "Well," she said, "he might be the slightest bit alarmed, but he wouldn't love you any different, that's for certain."

Sybil smiled. "Mairead, may I ask a favor of you?"

"Of course, miss," Mairead said, waiting for Sybil to correct her sudden formality. "I will endeavor to do what you need done."

"I have no doubt of that Mairead." The brightness seemed to leave Sybil's features, replaced with sobriety that Mairead didn't think she'd even seen displayed by the lady.

"What is it you need?"

"When the baby's born, I'd like you to teach her about Ireland. Tom and I have already agreed to christen and raise her Catholic, but I want her to know about the other half of her heritage. Teach her the stories, the history, the language, whatever you think she ought to know."

Mairead furrowed her brows. "Why can't Tom teach her? I'm honored that you want me to teach her, but I'm hardly qualified, and I don't know as much as he does, never mind that I hardly have the time."

"He wants to, I know he does," Sybil said, the corners of her mouth turning downwards, a ghost of a frown. "But Papa's terms...I'm afraid what Papa will say if he finds out. At least you can do it without fear of him. It'll be like the hedge schools from the old days, won't it?"

"I suppose it will be," Mairead said, nodding. "I'll gladly do it, Sybil. I'm honored that you thought to ask me."

"Tom wouldn't have anyone else, and I would't either." Mairead could see the childlike stubbornness appear in the set of Sybil's lips, and she knew there was no arguing with her. "I know you'll do a fantastic job."

"I will do my best," Mairead promised, noting the slight grimace that flashed across Sybil's features. She hurried to the woman's side, and helped her to the bed. "Let me tell Tom that it'll be today. Sir Philip Tapsell's due to arrive around luncheon, but if you want me to send for Dr. Clarkson, I wouldn't-"

"Just Tom, Mairead," Sybil said, accepting the younger woman's help without any protest. "Though he'll worry and worry as if the beginning of our child's life is to be the end of mine...Don't be gone too long, please?"

Mairead nodded and squeezed Sybil's delicate hand. "I won't. Promise. Ring if you need me, yeah?"

* * *

**A/N: I know this was a short chapter, but the longer ones are coming up, I promise. Things have just been hectic lately and I apologize for not updating as regularly/with the same quality as usual. The next few chapters will be better and longer, I promise. **

**In the meantime, please review if you have the chance, because every little bit counts! **

**Also, I'm pretty sure we all know what even we're approaching, but have no fear! There will be a Sybil Lives! AU for A Patch of Clover, to be released at a later date. **

**Thank you so much, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter! **


	59. A Woman's Job

Mairead was sitting in the servants' hall, mending a tear in Tom's shirt when James appeared in the doorway.

"Dinner's been postponed," the footman announced.

Mairead knew what James's sudden announcement meant, and almost immediately, she was on her feet. "Should I bring up a basin of water and some towels?" she asked Mrs. Hughes, who looked like she was about to tell James off for bursting in so suddenly.

The housekeeper's lips were pressed into a stern line, and she nodded. "Thank you Mairead," she said. "I'm sure Sir Philip will appreciate it."

_I could care less what Sir Philip thinks, _Mairead thought as she put away her mending and returned the nod. "Lady Sybil's in the Willow Suite, right?"

"Yes, and I'll send Anna to help you make up the Blue Room so Mr. Branson can stay there tonight. It'll be a long night, I think, and he'd do good to get some rest."

"Agreed."

It wasn't the nature of Bransons to fret, at least according to Uncle Laddie, and Mairead had never known Tom to worry over these things. Growing up in the country, he ought to be accustomed to the sound of a woman in labor (Mairead was, more or less, seeing as one of Aunt Bridget's daughters often asked her to accompany her to the houses of women in labor and stand at the ready, in case more assistance was needed), and the time it took a woman to bring a child into this world wasn't as long as it seemed, really.

Still, it would do him some good to get a good night's rest, rather than have him worrying over Sybil and the child.

* * *

She was hardly on the first landing, and she could hear Sybil crying out.

_Come on, Sybil, you can do it, I know you can, _she thought, moving as quickly as she could without spilling the water. She could feel the warmth through the ceramic sides of the bowl, and she knew she ought to get it upstairs before it cooled.

Sybil cried out again, a harsh cry of pain blended with a grunt, like she was pushing against an unyielding force.

_Come on, come on now. _

Mairead could hear Sir Philip arguing with Dr. Clarkson, and she felt her chest tighten with worry. Though she couldn't hear what they were arguing about specifically, she knew it couldn't be good, if the local physician and one of the most renowned doctors in England (perhaps the whole British Empire, according to Anna and Thomas) were in disagreement.

"You know as well as I do, Sir Philip, what preeclampsia looks like," she heard Dr. Clarkson say, his voice rising in such a way she'd ever heard. She'd never known Dr. Clarkson to be easily provoked to violence- no, he was a kind man who could be stern at times, but never violent- and so it had to be some grave matter, if he was raising his voice, especially now, with Sybil in labor.

Sybil cried out again, and Mairead's chest wound tight, like a spring coiled around a pole.

_Dear Lord, please let everything be alright. Sybil's never done any wrong by You, nor by anyone else. Tom I know has had his moments, but he doesn't deserve any hardship when he's worked so hard in the name of love. He loves her, Lord, he loves her more than anything, more than his country. Let Sybil pull through this and let the child be born beautiful and healthy, like Your Son. _

"I do," Sir Philip answered. "And this is not it, I assure you, Dr. Clarkson."

"Tom!" Sybil cried, and the coiled spring in Mairead's chest sprung open, sending fiery adrenaline into her blood.

"I brought warm water and towels," Mairead announced as she entered the room without preamble of any sort.

Dr. Clarkson looked to her, his old eyes softening with appreciation. "Thank you," he said, directing her to a table that must've been set up earlier that evening.

"Who is this?" Sir Philip asked, catching Mairead in his narrowed gaze. "I didn't ask for warm water or towels, did I?"

"No sir," Mairead said, unflinching.

"Then why did you see the need to bring something I have no need for at the moment?"

Oh, how she wanted to snap back at him, and perhaps she would. She wasn't afraid. He was just a man; he couldn't hurt her. He wouldn't dare hurt her, not with Sybil giving birth a few paces from where they stood.

"She was just trying to help," Dr. Clarkson said, making a move to stand between the other doctor and the housemaid.

"Well I don't need-"

"I've been present for more births than I have fingers, _sir,_" Mairead snapped, the back of her neck prickling. She was walking a fine line, and she knew it, but she didn't like the feeling that Sir Tapsell gave off one bit, no sir.

He had a high-and-mighty air to him, as if the prefix "sir" gave him more authority as a doctor than the lack thereof in Dr. Clarkson's name. It was as if only he was fit to attend to Sybil because they were of the same class, but he was a stranger to her. Dr. Clarkson knew Sybil almost as well as Sybil knew herself, knew the signs of her body and what they meant. To Sir Philip, it would be like reading Russian or chickenscratch.

"Have you now?" If there was anything Mairead could not stand about this moment, it was the supercilious arch of his brow, the condescending drawl in his speech. "Then why are you a maid, instead of a midwife? Though, truth be told, I don't think I would trust children to the care of an Irishwoman."

"I never asked you too," she said, bristling at his comment. "But I know enough t'know you ought to listen to Dr. Clarkson, because he knows Syb-he knows Lady Sybil the best, known her since she was a little girl."

"Why, you insolent, little-"

"Tom! Dear God, Mairead, where is Tom? Where is Tom? This hurts like he-" Another contraction came, and Sybil let out a cry of anguish, as if every bone in her body was being struck with a hammer against an anvil.

_I never want to have children if this is what it's like, _Mairead thought, running to her friend's side, not paying any mind to the harsh, whispered scoldings of the nurse Sir Philip had brought with him. She took Sybil's hand, and laced her fingers with the older woman's, keeping a steady grip despite the sweat on her palm.

"Hush," she whispered, brushing Sybil's dark curls away from her face. "Tom's downstairs. They won't let him up until the baby's born, those're the rules, alright?"

"But I want...I want...I want...CHRIST!"

"I know, I know," Mairead said again. "Just keep up the good work. You're strong, Sybil. You can do this. Think of how proud Tom'll be when he gets to see the baby you've been carrying all this time. Think of how proud I'll be. I'm already very proud of you, you've just got a little farther to go, and then you're done."

She felt someone come stand behind her, and she forced her attention away from Sybil to see that it was Dr. Clarkson.

"She's in danger," the doctor confided in a low whisper. Sir Philip was whispering with his nurse, not paying attention to the village doctor. "Sir Philip doesn't agree, but she is."

"What can I do for it?" Mairead asked, confused. "The family won't listen to me- I'm just a housemaid."

He nodded. "I know, and I won't ask anything of you, I couldn't...If His Lordship won't listen, there's nothing to do but pray."

Mairead wasn't sure what to do. She'd never seen Dr. Clarkson get like his. He was always so confident, so in control. He shouldn't be at a loss like this, he couldn't afford to. He was Sybil's only hope...If His Lordship didn't listen to Dr. Clarkson, then he was a damn fool who didn't care for his own daughter's health.

"We must have faith, shouldn't we though?" Mairead asked. "Prayers aren't anything without faith."

A small smile cracked the doctor's grave expression. "I suppose you're right. Prayer, faith, and hope, though I'd rather Sir Philip have some common sense," he said. "Stay close, please. You might be needed later."

"To fetch and carry, or will Sir Philip do that himself?"

Dr. Clarkson laughed. It was small and half-hearted, but it was something. "To fetch and carry, unfortunately. Mostly more warm water. Bless you for thinking to do that, or else I don't think Sir Philip would ever ask."

"My cousin's the assistant to the local midwife back home, and when I was little she'd bring me around to "fetch and carry…" usually help, because that was needed often I'm afraid, so I won't complain. I know more or less how it goes," she assured him. "Childbirth is a woman's job, Dr. Clarkson. We all know how to go about it, more or less."

Again, he laughed, and the worry in Mairead's stomach ebbed.

"I know," he said. "But it is my job as a doctor to help, and what-"

"Dr. Clarkson," Sir Philip barked, and Dr. Clarkson grimaced. "You wanted to help, I believe, so now's the time to do it, not gossiping with some maid."

"Excuse me."

Mairead nodded, and released Sybil's hand. "Of course," she said. "Forgive me."


	60. Well-Deserved Rest

After what felt like an eternity, Sybil's child was finally born.

It was a girl, a beautiful baby girl.

"You be good for you Auntie Mairead," Sybil told the child as she passed it to Mairead, who took the baby in her arms and held her as if she were made of porcelain.

She was smaller than any child that Mairead had ever seen delivered, but size wasn't something that bothered her. She'd been a small baby herself, according to Sam and Will, and her hair had been the same red as copper wire when she'd been pushed from her mother's womb. Sybil's baby already had a few curls, like a lamb's coat, and they were a coppery-blonde that Mairead knew would darken to Sybil's brown as the child grew. She couldn't say how she knew, only that she did know.

_Thank You God, _she said, gazing down at the child in her arms.

The baby didn't cry, nor did she squirm, bless her.

_Thank You for seeing them through safely, both of them. I promise to do my best in raising her to know You. _

"Mairead you have to promise to take good care of her," Sybil said, a helpless smile on her lips. "You're her family, you've got too…"

"Of course I will," Mairead told the older woman. "And she'll have a loving mother."

"Take care of Tom too. Don't let him forget...Papa will try to change him now that...when...He can't go backwards. Only forwards. Only forwards, not back."

"Sybil, you're not making sense," Mairead said, alarm edging into her voice. "Is everything alright?"

Sybil gave her a weak nod; sweat had begun to bead on her brow. "I'm tired that's all. Let me kiss my little girl goodnight, and then you can put her to bed and let me rest."

Mairead obliged, after all, Sybil had just spent hours in such pain that Mairead couldn't even begin to comprehend it all. She deserved to rest. "I'll be awake if you need anything," she told Sybil as she bent so Sybil could kiss her little girl's forehead.

"Mummy loves you," Sybil crooned. The tiredness in her voice was unmistakable, but understandable. "She loves you very much, don't forget that. You'll always be my baby girl, my darling, _mo __stóirín_."

Sybil's use of Tom's endearment made Mairead smile. "I'll bring her to you in the morning," she promised.

"That sounds splendid," Sybil declared, reaching for Mairead's hand and giving it a squeeze. "Remember your promise, please. Don't let them change Tom, and make sure my darling learns about where she's from."

"I will."

"Will you come back? Tom said you always had a lovely singing voice, and I want to hear you sing before I go to bed."

"I can try."

"Oh please do, please do! Tom always talks about how lovely you sound, and I want to hear it for myself, and have you sing for me when I die."

"Sybil, you're not going to die anytime-"

"Promise me Mairead!" Desperation had found its way into Sybil's voice, and Mairead's earlier unease was beginning to return. This was more than fatigue. This was something else entirely. "I'm only asking for you to sing to me twice. Once, before I go to sleep, and again when I'm to be buried."

Mairead swallowed. "I promise."

* * *

After the newborn had been laid to sleep, Mairead returned to Sybil's bedside, where she sat and did as Sybil had asked earlier.

"_From Bantry Bay up to Derry Quay_

_And from Galway to Dublin town_

_No maid I've seen like the brown _cailín

_That I met in the County Down."_

"Mm, you do have a lovely voice," Sybil murmured, half-opening her eyes. "Tom wasn't even telling the half-truth...Why'd you never become a professional singer? You could've had the King and Queen come to see you for that, hang the fact you're Irish."

Mairead laughed, and her eyes fell shut. She forced them open. _Stay awake. You've got to stay awake the whole night. _"Never had the time, nor the money," she answered, and Sybil closed her eyes and nodded.

"Mmmhm."

"I'll be in to check on you later," Mairead said. "Your little girl is sleeping sound as an angel, and you deserve your rest."

_And maybe you can catch a wink of or two, _she thought as she stifled a yawn. _The Blue Room's all taken care of, and there's really nothing stopping you. You can have Anna wake you._

* * *

As soon as Mairead's head touched the pillow, she fell fast asleep.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for reading this chapter! I know I haven't been putting author's notes recently, so this is me trying to redeem myself some. Yes, the sad parts are coming, but there will be an AU that branches off after this chapter, and I will post that as soon as I am able. **

**Please review if you have a chance; it means the world. **

**Thank you~**


	61. One For Sorrow

Mairead slept through the night, her slumber undisturbed by dreams or nightmares.

She was woken by the steady pitter-patter of rain on the roof and the bells of the village parish as they tolled the hour. By the sixth peal of the bell, Mairead was kneeling at the foot of her bed, her head bowed in prayer. When she finally muttered "amen," she stood and started dressing for the day.

Anna had already gotten up and gotten dressed; Mairead knew it was a habit of the older woman's to do so, and so she wasn't bothered by the absence of the lady's maid.

Rather, Mairead found herself enjoying the solitude that she found in this early hour. Her whole body felt lighter, and she knew it was with joy at the birth of Sybil's daughter. She found herself singing to herself as she twisted her hair into a careful knot, a song she remembered from a game she used to play when she was younger.

She hoped Mrs. Hughes wouldn't mind her wanting to check on Sybil's daughter before she got on with her chores for the day, and maybe the housekeeper had already thought it through and decided to appoint the head housemaid as temporary nanny. Mairead wouldn't mind that at all, though she knew she would have to keep her relation to the child a secret, at least for now. It wouldn't do to have everyone know that Mairead's second cousin was a Crawley, not until she could figure out what the full implications of the relationship might be.

Her joy over the birth of her cousin carried down the hall and to the kitchen as if she were flying through the air, she felt so light. Despite the damp that had come in from the outdoors (it had already begun to rain, and would no doubt continue to do so for the rest of the day), Mairead felt something warm sidling up against her heart, lifting her spirits and smoothing the lines of worry that ran across her brow.

Once downstairs, however, Mairead became acutely aware of an unpleasant weight that seemed to hang in the corridors.

_You're imagining things, _she told herself, tossing her head and heading for Mrs. Hughes's sitting room.

"Ah, Mairead," she heard Mrs. Hughes say behind her. "There you are my dear."

_My dear? _

Mrs. Hughes never called Mairead "my dear." Mairead had never had to tell her so, but she disliked the endearment, unless it was Aunt Moira or Tom speaking. She especially disliked it when it came from a superior. Mrs. Hughes was, in a loose sense, Mairead's employer, not her mother; she had no right to be calling Mairead such things. Mairead's mother wasn't even allowed to call Mairead "my dear."

"Yes Mrs. Hughes?" Mairead answered, not letting the older woman see that she was at all bothered by her words.

The housekeeper's lips pressed together, and her brows furrowed. She looked almost as if she was trying to keep from crying, though Mairead didn't know Mrs. Hughes to be a woman who cried easily. "Anna and I would like to have a word with you, if you don't mind," she finally said.

Mairead nodded. "Now?" She knew she had to go supervise the other housemaids and help with airing out the study and parlors before she would have any real time to herself, and she was sure that Mrs. Hughes knew this.

Mrs. Hughes shook her head. "Not now...I know you have your chores to see to, and I won't keep you from those."

"Thank you Mrs. Hughes," Mairead said. "Um, Mrs. Hughes, I was wondering...may I help with Lady Sybil's child until a proper nanny can be found?"

Pain flickered in Mrs. Hughes's eyes, but the housekeeper remained poised and composed. The pain was gone as soon as it had appeared. "Why don't you see to your morning chores first, and then we'll talk?"

"Yes ma'am," came her answer. "Do you want me to take breakfast up to Lady Sybil?"

"No." There was an edge in the older woman's voice now, and instinct told Mairead that she was hiding something, or trying to keep something from Mairead at least. "I don't want you going upstairs to the bedrooms just yet, Mairead."

Mairead nodded, though she was unsure about why. "Yes ma'am," she said again, trying to see if she could read Mrs. Hughes's expression for some kind of hint about what was going on.

"There's a good girl." Mrs. Hughes seemed to relax; the furrowed brows parted and her posture loosened by a hair. "I'd like to see you back here in an hour, am I understood?"

"Yes ma'am."

* * *

When the hour was up, Mairead reported to Mrs. Hughes's sitting room, where the housekeeper was waiting, with Anna at her side.

Both women, Mairead realized, looked as if they hadn't slept much last night, or if they had, their sleep had not been restful. They looked awfully solemn too, their lips pressed in hard lines. Even Anna, who usually wore some sort of smile, no matter what, seemed subdued, her lower lip curled slightly inward and the corners of her mouth turned down.

"You asked to see me ma'am," Mairead said, closing the door behind her.

Mrs. Hughes nodded. "Yes I did," she confirmed. "Would you please take a seat?"

Mairead did as she was told and sat on the edge of the settee, watching the housekeeper and lady's maid carefully. "Is something wrong, Mrs. Hughes?" she asked.

Something was undeniably wrong, Mairead could sense it.

The heaviness in the air downstairs, the smothering silence of the maids as they went about their morning chores, Anna's noticeably dimmed countenance. It all felt out of place, and Mairead wanted to know why.

She was prepared to ask, however rude it might be, because no one was telling her anything, and ask she would.

"What's going on?" she asked, her voice betraying the fear that was creeping up on her, slowly but surely. She could feel it pressing against her insides, tossing and turning in her stomach, twisting around her chest, and forcing its way up her throat. She knew it would go away if she could just know what had caused it. Why did she feel this great feeling of foreboding?

Had something happened to Tom? Had Mrs. Hughes and Anna found out her secret? Were they going to punish her for it? Did Nathaniel tell them? Did they think she was pregnant? Was she pregnant after all, but too preoccupied to notice?

She saw Anna bite down harder on her lip and take a few steps towards where she sat. Her eyes shone with the beginnings of tears. Why was she crying?

"What happened?" Mairead asked again, standing.

"Mairead," Mrs. Hughes said, and she stopped to take a deep breath, as if she needed steadying. "Mairead, my dear, last night...Lady Sybil is dead."


	62. Solitude

"_Lady Sybil is dead." _

Everything seemed to fall away, leaving Mairead standing on her own in the middle of...nothing. She retreated into herself, trying to puzzle through what she had just been told.

Sybil was dead.

Sybil, who not twelve hours ago, had given birth to a healthy baby girl. Sybil, who Sir Philip had said would be alright. Sybil, who Dr. Clarkson had worried over and fought tooth and nail with Sir Philip over. Sybil, who was the kindest person Mairead knew, kinder than even Tom, who loved his wife more than anything in the whole world.

Tom.

Mairead's heart sank further when she thought of her cousin, and the grief he must be feeling now.

"When did she die?" she asked, vaguely aware of Anna's hands on her shoulders, guiding her towards the settee.

"Late last night," Mrs. Hughes said.

Mairead shook her head. "No," she said. "That can't be it. She was fine. She was fine, the baby was healthy. Nothing was wrong. Sir Philip said-"

"Sir Philip was wrong," Mrs. Hughes said, her brow furrowing with worry. "Lady Sybil...Dr. Clarkson said it was eclampsia."

"I know what he said, but Sir Philip said...and...and…"

"Sh," Anna said, drawing Mairead close. "It was a shock to all of us."

_You don't understand! _Mairead wanted to cry. _Sybil was more to me than she was to you. She was- she _is_\- my family. She's Tom's wife, and the mother of his child, and… _

"P-please excuse me," she said, not waiting for permission to leave.

She could feel herself beginning to cry, and she wouldn't let Mrs. Hughes see her like that.

She'd suffered the death of her brother in silence, and she could do the same for Sybil. She didn't need to be coddled by someone who didn't understand what this meant to her, and she sure didn't need to be treated as if she were a child! She was twenty years old, for goodness sake, not ten.

Mairead didn't retreat to her room, as any normal woman would do when confronted with the vast, overwhelming _nothing_ that Mairead felt settle in the cradle of her stomach. That was the first place Anna would look once she thought Mairead had settled down. Nor would she go to Sybil's room- _Sybil's room no longer, only the room that was Sybil's_\- and seek out Tom; she would wait for her own grief to subside before taking care of her cousin's.

The courtyard beckoned her, and the open space beyond promised safety, if only for a little while.

There.

She would go there, go to the edge of the duckpond or the abandoned fishing pond maybe, and let herself settle. Let the shaking and the choked sobs take her, but let them take her in private, where only the deer and birds would hear her. The deer and birds wouldn't care about her and why she hid, and they wouldn't wonder and gossip about what she did- her fellow servants would.

And so she ran.

As soon as she was out of sight of the back door, Mairead broke into a run, forcing her lungs to draw air for running and not for crying. It would make the grief better- she remembered Sam telling her that, a long time ago, when she didn't have to worry about anything like this. She wasn't a fast runner, nor could she keep at it for long, but there wasn't much distance between the abandoned fishing pond and the tradesman's entrance. There was just enough distance now that no one would come looking for her (if anyone cared enough to find her), and she would be able to let the pit in her stomach close, at least enough that she was ready to face the world- the world without Sybil- again.

She was alone.


	63. I Stand at the Door and Knock

Mairead returned to the servants' hall before the clocks had the chance to strike the next hour, and disappeared into the washroom long enough to make sure that she looked presentable. She would not let the others see that she had been crying, or that she had lain on her side in the tall grasses that lined the old fishing pond. She had to appear as somber as they who had only lost a beloved employer, not as one who had lost a beloved relative.

Once she was satisfied with her appearance, she made her way upstairs, certain of where she would find her cousin.

He would be in the Willow Suite, keeping watch over Sybil's body. The curtains would be drawn, and the only light in the room would be from candles, not electricity.

When Mairead reached the Willow Suite, she hesitated before knocking.

_Dear Lord, please give me the strength to comfort my cousin. I know I don't understand the hurt that Sybil's death has caused him, but help me understand, so that I may help to heal him. Give me strength so that I may help him see what lies beyond, that he still has a child he must care for, even through his grief, and help me to do the same. In the name of the Son, the Father, and the Holy Spirit, amen. _

She knocked- quietly, so that she wouldn't be heard in the hall, and so she wouldn't disturb Tom's peace (no, it wasn't peace, though she wasn't sure what else to call it)- and waited for a response.

"Tom?" she said, speaking close to the crack in the doorframe so she wouldn't have to raise her voice. She knocked again. "Tom, it's Mairead. May I come in?"


	64. Repose of the Soul

**A/N: Wow, it's been a long time since I've updated. **

**My only excuses are that I had school and uni and NaNoWriMo stuff to do...those really aren't good excuses. **

**Anyways, here's Chapter 63. We're still in S3, which puts me very behind, I know. Hopefully I'll be able to write more chapters and catch up to the show...It might take another year, but I will do it. **

**I, altenprano, solemnly swear to bring this fanfic all the way to S6 and close it there. **

**Now, on with the show! **

* * *

When Mairead collected herself, she went to see Tom.

She found him in the Willow Suite, kneeling beside the bed where Sybil lay, her hands placed on her chest, and Mairead knew that if Sybil were alive, she would be able to see the rise and fall of her chest. If Sybil were alive, it would only be a matter of time before her eyes opened and she would sit up, smile at Mairead, and maybe lean to kiss Tom.

_Sybil's dead, and Lazarus is just a myth. Dead people don't come back to life. _

"Tom?"

It was a few moments before Mairead's cousin looked up from his wife and met Mairead's eyes. "Mairead…" His lip trembled, and a quiet sob pushed its way past his lips. "She's dead, Mairead. She's dead, she's dead."

Mairead rushed to Tom's side and pulled him into a fast embrace. "I know," said she, doing her best not to cry herself. "I'm so sorry."

"I should've done something, should've driven her to the hospital myself. She would've lived if I had the courage to stand up to Lord Grantham and Sir Philip."

"You did all you could," she assured him. "You aren't to blame, Tom."

"What if I am, Mairead?" He pulled away from her, and Mairiead saw the redness around his eyes, and the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw. "What if it's my punishment for marrying above my station, or joining the IRB?"

Mairead shook her head. "None of that talk now," she said. "God wouldn't punish anyone for those things, you know that."

"You sound like Sybil." A half-hearted smile flitted across his lips, but disappeared in the space of a breath. "She wouldn't want me to grieve for her like this, would she?"

"She'd want you to grieve however you wanted," Mairead said. "Sybil only ever wanted your happiness."

Tom's gaze darted to where his wife lay, peaceful in her eternal sleep. "How can I be happy without her Mairead? Sybil's the love of my life, more precious to me than Ireland's freedom or even my own life. Now that I've experienced life with her…I don't know what life without her is like anymore."

"You know, when Sam died, Isibéal wrote me using almost the exact same words. She was just about to have wee Erin, remember, and, when Erin was finally born, she wrote to me saying that she had found a way past her grief."

"What was that?"

"Her daughter." Mairead took Tom's hands in hers. "You still have your daughter to love, Tom. She needs you, and you need her."

He shook his head. "I can't do it on my own Mairead. I need Sybil," he said. "I can't be her mother the way Sybil would be. I can't be her mother at all."

"Of course you can, and you won't be on your own."

"What do you mean?"

Mairead could feel the tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. "Before she…died, Sybil asked for me to teach your daughter about her heritage, and I said I would." She paused. "I can teach her other things too, and I know I can't ever replace Sybil, but you don't have to be on your own in raising your child."

"Sybil."

"Excuse me?"

"My daughter, Mairead. I want to name her Sybil, after her mother."

Now Mairead felt herself beginning to cry. "She would've loved that," she told her cousin. "We can call her Sybbie for short."

Tom smiled—a genuine smile, if with the slightest tinge of sadness to it. "Yes, I like that," he said. "Sybil wanted her godmother to be Lady Mary, and Kieran'll be her godfather."

"A grand choice. Have you a middle name picked out?"

"Mairead." He met Mairead's gaze. "For you."

"Why?"

"Because of all the help you were, _mo stoirín_. Without you, we probably wouldn't've been able to have what we had." Tom wiped the tears from Mairead's cheek—she didn't realize that she'd been crying that much until he did—and rested his hand at the base of her neck for a moment before he withdrew his touch. "Sybil said that if our child was a girl, we would honor you that way."

"Tom, I…"

He laughed. "You don't have to say anything," he said. "And you're right, I do have something to live for. I have little Sybil…I hope Sybil—God bless her—doesn't mind."

Mairead cast a quick glance up at Sybil's body and crossed herself. "I'm sure she doesn't mind," she said. "I think she'd like it, actually."

"I hope she does." Tom looked down in his lap, where his rosary—the same one he'd had since Mairead was little—lay. "Will you say a rosary for Sybil with me?" he asked.

She nodded. "Of course." She slipped her hand into the pocket of her apron, half-expecting to find her rosary, until she remembered that it was tucked beneath her pillow, safe from harm. "Mine's in my room…"

"No bother. We can share, right? Didn't we always when we were younger?"

"We did so." She smiled at the memory. "Do you want to start it?"

"I will if you want." Tom bowed his head; Mairead followed suit. "_Eternal rest grant unto Sybil Branson, O Lord, and let Your perpetual light shine upon her."_

"_May her soul, and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace."_

Together, they said, "_Amen_."


	65. So Softly She Came

The funeral was three days later.

Mairead attended with the rest of the servants, though she wished that she could go stand with Tom and comfort him. Instead, she stood between Thomas and Anna, while Tom stood with the family.

Towards the end of the service, after Lady Mary and Lord and Lady Grantham had spoken about Lady Sybil, Tom took his place at the front of the church.

He was doing his best not to cry as he looked out at the family, friends, and employees of the dearly departed, as his gaze lingered on baby Sybbie, safe in the arms of Lady Grantham, and finally came to rest on the polished wood of Sybil's coffin. He drew a steadying breath, squared his shoulders, and spoke.

Mairead only half-heard his words, as her grief resurfaced with Tom's recollection of Sybil's bravery, her boldness, the way she managed to thumb her nose at society and its rules in the most elegant way, and her tenderness. He spoke of their first meeting, her work during the Great War, how she touched his heart and changed him—for the better, he said—how she had been willing to fight for him, how he had been willing to fight for her and the right to be her husband, and how she had reshaped his understanding of love.

"I was willing to go head-to-head with His Lordship if that's what it took to show how much I wanted to marry Sybil," Tom said, an attempt at bringing some humor to the somber occasion. "Sybil, of course, had to remind me that displays of force were not how the English nobility communicated."

There was no laughter at this comment.

About halfway through his speech, Tom began to cry. He tried reigning it in—Mairead could see his noble efforts, and her heart ached for him—but he wouldn't win this one. The grief was just too much.

"Sybil…We had a friend who was so dear to us, who helped us through thick and thin in the beginning, and even now, at the end, she's been there for us, and I would like to thank her for her help." Tom's eyes rested on Mairead, and a smile broke through his grief, if only for a moment. "I've known her forever, but Sybil only knew her for a few years. Let me tell you though, that Sybil cherished her friendship, just as she cherished all things, and it was her last request to have our friend sing at her funeral."

There was a pause.

Tom's eyes still rested on Mairead, and he gave her a nod, inviting her up to the front of the church.

Mairead felt her stomach coil into an anxious knot. Did he really want her to sing in front of everyone? What would she sing? There was nothing fit for the likes of the Crawleys, hardly fit for the servants either. Would they object to an Irish air being sung for their daughter?

She felt a hand clasp hers.

"Go on," Anna whispered, giving Mairead a nudge of encouragement and stepping aside so the young woman could make her way to the front of the church.

As she passed Sybil's coffin, Mairead crossed herself, then turned to face the mourners. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tom, who was watching her, half encouraging, half expectant.

_Go on_, she told herself. _Sing_.

"_My young love said to me, "My mother won't mind_

_And my father won't slight you for your lack of kind."_

_And she stepped away from me and this she did say_

_It will not be long, love, till our wedding day.""_

Already, she felt herself beginning to cry, the tears coming slowly. The song was barely begun, but Mairead knew where it would lead.

"_As she stepped away from me and she moved through the fair_

_And fondly I watched her move here and move there_

_And then she turned homeward with one star awake_

_Like the swan in the evening moves over the lake."_

Mairead saw contented looks on the faces of her audience, looks that told her they wouldn't expect what came next, the poor people. Tom, she caught out of the corner of her eye, watching her and already on the verge of tears again. He knew this song, after all. He and Sam had taught it to her.

"_The people were saying, no two e'er were wed_

_But one had a sorrow that never was said_

_And I smiled as she passed with her goods and her gear_

_And that was the last that I saw of my dear_."

Now she was crying, the threat of sobs too much to think of. She had to finish the song first. There was still one more verse. Mairead channeled the threatening nothing of grief into the song, letting the lover's sadness fill every note that came from her lips and strike the very being of everyone in the room.

"_Last night she came to me, she came softly in_

_So softly she came that her feet made no din_

_As she laid her hand on me and this she did say:_

_It will not be long, love, 'til our wedding day_."

She let silence hang in the sanctuary of the church for a moment before she exchanged a solemn nod with her cousin and returned to her seat.


	66. The Clouds are Lifting

After Sybil was laid in the ground, the mourners began to peel away from the graveside after giving their condolences to the Crawleys and returned to their normal lives.

Dr. Clarkson headed off in the direction of the village hospital with a middle-aged nurse not far behind. Two young women who worked for the postmistress returned to the post office, arm-in-arm and teary-eyed. Mrs. O'Brien was the first of the servants to leave, followed by Mr. Carson, Mrs. Patmore, Madge, the hallboys, the younger housemaids, the kitchen maids, and Ivy. After a cautious, gentle tug from Daisy, Thomas followed them back to the house. Mr. Stark left to fetch the car for the family, and soon they were gone too, and Mr. Branson with them. That left Anna and Mairead in the churchyard.

"Mairead," Anna said, coming to stand by the younger woman. "We should be getting back to the Abbey."

"Just a bit longer, Mrs. Bates," Mairead replied, blinking away tears. "You can go ahead. Don't let me keep you."

"None of that now. Let's go, shall we?" Anna took Mairead's hand in hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. When the young woman didn't budge, Anna pressed her lips into a firm line. "Mairead, I know you're upset. You and Lady Sybil must've been very close."

"Mrs. Bates…" Mairead's lip quivered, and she looked as if she were fighting the urge to cry, even though she had every right to in Anna's book.

"It's alright, I understand."

Those were dangerous words, and perhaps a lie.

True, Anna understood loss—her father had died when she was young, and what came after was salt in the wound of grief—but she didn't understand the kind of loss that Mairead was experiencing.

To Mairead, Mr. Branson was more than a cousin—Anna could see that. He was her brother, perhaps the closest thing the poor girl had ever had to a father, which made Lady Sybil the closest thing Mairead had ever had to a mother.

From what Anna had been able to figure out in the four years that Mairead had lived and worked at Downton, the young Irishwoman had a strange relationship with her mother. When the maids talked of home, or when an occasion arose that would warrant talk of home, Mairead never took part. She always listened with a somewhat puzzled look on her face, as if she didn't understand what the girls were talking about. On Mothering Sunday, while the other members of staff visited or sent cards to their mothers, Mairead would stay at Downton and work tirelessly until the early hours of the morning, or until Anna or Jane stopped her and insisted she go to bed.

"Mairead, we really should be getting back," Anna tried again, this time with a plan she was sure Lady Sybil would wholeheartedly approve of. "There'll be work to do, and Miss Sybil will need to be looked after."

This caught Mairead's attention, as Anna hoped it might.

The young woman's dark eyes, dulled over with grief, lit up a little at the mention of Lady Sybil's daughter. "You're right," she said, turning her attention in the direction of the Abbey, as if she could hear the infant's cries. "I almost forgot."

_No you didn't_, Anna thought, but said nothing. She only nodded, and linked her arm with Mairead's. "Will we be on our way then?" she asked.

Mairead's attention once more went to the headstone that read "Sybil Cora Branson, 3rd Daughter of the 5th Earl of Grantham, Beloved Daughter, Wife, and Mother," said a quick prayer under her breath and crossed herself before she and Anna began the return journey to the Abbey.

* * *

When they returned to the Abbey, Anna went to speak with Mrs. Hughes, while Mairead went to her room to change out of her dark grey dress (it was the darkest piece of clothing she had with her, besides her housemaid's uniform, which was hardly suitable for a funeral) and into her uniform.

In a great house, the family could mourn as long as they liked, but for the servants, it was right back to work.

"And the world spins on," Mairead muttered as she fixed her hair back into its usual bun, with a black ribbon wound through the arrangement though mostly invisible because of her dark auburn coloring. She put the white lace headpiece on—in the mornings she and the other maids wore white caps, and in the afternoons they wore white lace headpieces—without having to use the mirror, smoothed a crease in her apron, and went on her way.

Her first order of business was baby Sybil—Miss Sybil, the other servants called her—in the nursery.

Without Sybil and with finding a wet nurse out of the question, breastfeeding baby Sybil was not an option.

So, before Mairead headed up to the nursery each day, she prepared a mixture of cow's milk (boiled), cream, and water, with a pinch of sugar, and, after some thought and a little chat with Dr. Clarkson and the young midwife at the village hospital, a small lashing of cod liver oil (which she purchased herself)*. All of this was done under the careful watch of Mrs. Patmore, who at first was perplexed, and perhaps flustered at a housemaid's presence in the kitchen, but later more understanding, and sometimes the curious eyes of Daisy, Ivy, and the other two kitchen maids.

Mairead insisted on doing it herself, not because she didn't trust Mrs. Patmore, but because…well, it was hard to explain, really. Maybe it had something to do with her wanting to come through on her promise and fill the role of a mother for Sybil as best as she could, even if she wasn't the child's mother, even if right now she was no more than the child's nursemaid until a suitable candidate could be found.

Once the formula was done, Mairead would warm a bottle with boiled water and fill it with the just as warm formula, fit it with a rubber nipple, and take it up to the room next door to the Willow Suite, which had become the unofficial nursery.

It was here that Mairead usually found Tom in the days after Lady Sybil's death and it was here that she found him after his wife's funeral, sitting on the couch with baby Sybil wrapped in her blankets, making indecipherable baby noises in his arms, while he stared out the window, blank-faced.

Mairead closed the door behind her and went to her cousin. "May I join you?" she asked, her voice soft, as if there was someone she was afraid of waking nearby. "I brought Sybbie her luncheon."

Tom glanced at her—she saw the redness around his eyes and recalled how he had wept as Sybil was buried—hesitated, then nodded. "Thank you," he said, scooting over to allow Mairead some room (though there was already plenty for her).

Mairead offered her cousin the bottle. "Do you want to feed her?"

He shook his head. "Why don't you do it," he said, handing her the bundle of blankets that was Sybbie. "I don't feel up to the task today. Maybe tomorrow."

_That's what you've said every day since Sybil died,_ Mairead thought as she took Sybbie in the crook of one arm, holding the baby so she could see her father, and offered her the rubber nipple. "Alright," she told Tom, then, to Sybbie, "Are you ready for luncheon, Miss Sybbie?"

Sybbie cooed and mouthed the rubber nipple for a while before actually taking the thing and began drinking the formula.

"You did a lovely job at the funeral with your singing," Tom remarked, his gaze falling into his lap, where he was twisting his wedding ring around and around his finger. "I'd forgotten what your voice sounds like."

Despite herself, Mairead felt color rise to her cheeks. "Thank you," she said, taking her eyes off of Sybbie in order to offer her cousin a kind smile. As she went to do this, however, she noticed something. "Tom, have you eaten at all today?"

Her cousin was looking a bit thin, and she knew that grief sometimes did this to people. It had done the same to her when Sam died, though Tom had put a quick stop to it.

"I have," he said, rather flatly, if Mairead had any say in things.

"Oh," said she, skeptical, but too occupied with other things to push the subject. "You look a little thin, that's all. Would you like me to bring you something when I'm done feeding Sybbie?"

"You've enough on your plate, Mairead. I wouldn't want to trouble you."

"It wouldn't be any trouble really, you know that Tom."

A brief laugh escaped his lips, breathy and a little forced sounding. "You're a busy bee, aren't you?" he said, glancing at Sybbie. "Your auntie Mairead's a busy bee, Sybbie."

"Beh!" Sybbie exclaimed, spattering formula everywhere—mostly on Mairead, but on Tom a bit too.

Tom smiled—it was faint, but Mairead could tell that he meant it. "That's my girl," he said, the clouds breaking to let a thin beam of sunlight through. He met Mairead's gaze. "I'm going to go talk with Lady Mary about the christening."

"I'll look after Sybbie, don't you worry," Mairead assured him. "I'll probably tuck her in for a nap until the weather clears up some, then perhaps she can go for a walk in the pram Her Ladyship found the other day."

"Sounds like a good idea," Tom said, standing. He looked at her for a moment, the faint smile returning to his lips as he watched her feeding Sybbie, who was making those sweet baby noises again. "Thank you Mairead. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You'll do just fine, Tom," she said, offering him another kind smile. "I know you doubt yourself, but you'll do just fine."

* * *

*** I looked on Wikipedia, and this was what turned up for baby formula in the early 20th century, and Wikipedia isn't always right, but I'm trusting it this time. **

**A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and don't forget to stay tuned for the next few chapters (which will be somewhat less angsty I hope). Leave a review if you like, it would mean a whole lot to me if you did. **

**Thanks!**


	67. Dinner Gossip

Once the business of the funeral was over, it came time to think of the christening.

It was something that, under any other circumstances, Mairead was sure would go over smoothly, but as soon as the news reached the servants' hall that Tom intended for his daughter to be christened Catholic, it was clear that the days between now and then would be anything but smooth.

"I have no great wish to persecute Catholics," Mr. Carson said at the table that evening, "but I find it hard to believe they're loyal to the Crown."

While Mairead stiffened at the comment, Mrs. Hughes didn't hesitate to reply, "Well I'm sure they'll be relieved you don't want them burnt at the stake."

And then James said something, but Mairead wasn't sure what it was.

She couldn't say she really cared for the new footman—he was the sort of fellow who seemed out to cause trouble, she thought, and she knew her mother would agree. Mr. Carson certainly wasn't too fond of the young man, who perhaps behaved, in the opinion of the butler, a bit too big for his boots, and Mairead agreed.

Sure, he'd been first footman at his last post, but what importance did that have here? He was second footman- Alfred was the first, and there was no disputing that. And yet, James Kent insisted on being treated as first footman.

"It's Mr. Branson's private business, how he baptizes his daughter," Anna said without looking up from her plate.

"Amen," said Mrs. Hughes, and that was the end of that.

_And thank goodness_, Mairead thought, pushing the boiled carrots that were part of supper that evening across her plate, having long since lost interest in the meal. She'd eaten some of it- she could feel Anna's gaze on her every now and then, and she would do her best to manage a small bite if only to please the lady's maid- but, as it had been since Sybil's death, she didn't feel able to eat at the moment.

"May I be excused?" Mairead asked, looking to Mrs. Hughes and then to Mr. Carson, waiting for their approval.

The housekeeper pressed her lips together. She was clearly about to say something, clearly wondering if she ought to say it now, whatever it was, in front of the rest of the staff. "I suppose you may," she finally said, though Mairead could see the faint line of worry etched in the Scotswoman's brow.

There was no need for such worry, not when Mairead was old enough to take care of herself. Still, Mairead supposed it was easier to let the older woman worry, even if there was no cause. A disagreement with the housekeeper wasn't on the list of things Mairead needed at the moment—it might as well be the very last thing she needed.

From the servants' hall, Mairead retreated up the stairs, towards her room, looking forward to the chance she would have to be on her own for a while. Perhaps she would write to Isibeál, or perhaps to Kieran, even if she would see her cousin soon enough.

Dear Lord, what a shock that would be for the Crawleys, when Kieran Branson arrived at the Abbey for the christening. He was by no means political, but there was no denying that he had all the spirit of an Irishman and wouldn't want Lord Grantham to forget it. Mairead didn't forget what he'd called Lord Grantham after Sybil's wedding—Lord Stiff Collar, or something of the sort.

Still, she hoped that Keiran would behave himself, if not for his sake, then for Tom's.


End file.
